TttAROMOP'S 

UNGUARDED  MOMENT 


- 


G 


OSGAR  fAY  ADAMS 


THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED 
MOMENT 

AND  OTHER  STORIES 


THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT. 


THE 

ARCHBISHOP'S   UNGUARDED 
MOMENT 

AND  OTHER  STORIES 


BY 

OSCAR   FAY   ADAMS 

AUTHOR   OF 

"THE   STORY   OF   JANE   AUSTEN'S   LIFE," 

POST-LAUREATE   IDYLS,"    "THE   PRESUMPTION    OF   SEX,': 

"A   DICTIONARY   OF   AMERICAN   AUTHORS" 


BOSTON 

L.   C.    PAGE   AND   COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 
1899 


Copyright,  1899 
BY  L.  C.  PAGE  AND  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 


Colonial  Press* 

Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Simonds  &  Co. 
Boston,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


TO 
THE   FRIENDS 

AT 

"CARISBROOK" 


2041547 


.      AUTHOR'S   NOTE. 

"  The  Archbishop's  Unguarded  Moment "  and 
"  Why  the  Bishop  Left  Rye  Beach  "  were  originally 
printed  in  The  Cosmopolitan,  "  The  Serious  Dilemma 
of  the  Bishop  of  Oklaho"  in  Munsey's  Magazine,  "The 
Evolution  of  a  Bishop "  in  the  New  England  Maga- 
zine, and  "  A  Night  with  William  of  Wykeham "  in 
"  Vignettes,"  a  collection  of  short  stories  issued  by 
De  Wolfe,  Fiske  &  Co.  The  author  takes  this  occa- 
sion to  express  his  obligations  to  the  various  pub- 
lishers of  the  above  named  for  permission  to  include 
these  stories  in  the  present  volume. 


CONTENTS. 


THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT          .  n 

THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BISHOP     .        .        .        .  57 

WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH  ...  91 

THE  TRIALS  OF  A  RETIRED  BISHOP   .        .         .  145 

A  NIGHT  WITH  WILLIAM  OF  WYKEHAM    .        .  183 

THE  DISCONTENTED  BISHOP        .        .        •        •  201 
THE    SERIOUS    DILEMMA    OF    THE    BISHOP    OF 

OKLAHO 237 


THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED 

MOMENT 


THE 

ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED 
MOMENT 


WHEN  the  Reverend  Walter  Noel  se- 
cured the  living  of  St.  Michael-at- 
Plea  in  the  city  of  Norwich,  all  the  clergy 
of  Norfolk  exclaimed  as  one  clergyman : 
"  Noel  is  just  the  man  for  the  place." 
Similarly  had  every  one  who  knew  him 
exclaimed  when  he  had  previously  become 
curate  in  charge  at  Great  Snoring.  He  had 
been  for  five  years  in  this  remote  country 
parish  when  the  living  of  St.  Michael-at-Plea 
was  offered  to  him,  and,  if  the  expression 
may  be  used  of  an  embryo  archbishop,  he 
jumped  at  the  offer. 


12   THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

And  there  was  no  good  reason  why  he 
should  not  have  done  so,  either.  The  living 
of  St.  Michael-at-Plea,  though  it  had  not  a 
large  stipend  attached  to  it,  was  certainly 
better  worth  having  than  a  curacy  in  so 
remote  a  part  of  Norfolk  as  Great  Snoring, 
and,  then  too,  the  Reverend  Walter  liked 
urban  much  better  than  he  did  country  life. 
But  to  counsel  with  his  likings  was  some- 
thing he  had  hitherto  little  opportunity  of 
doing.  In  his  college  and  university  life  at 
Winchester  and  Oxford  he  had  always  been 
distinguished  for  doing  everything  assigned 
to  him  with  ready  cheerfulness,  never  allow- 
ing himself  to  murmur  even  when  manifestly 
imposed  upon.  Consequently,  when  his  uni- 
versity friends  heard  of  his  going  to  Great 
Snoring,  they  pronounced  him  to  be  just  the 
man  for  the  place,  as  the  absentee  vicar 
would  never  be  able  to  find  another  curate 
who  would  fulfil  all  his  demands  with  such 
conscientious  fidelity  as  Noel  would  be  sure 
to  do.  And  Reverend  Jonas  Steele,  Vicar 
of  Great  Snoring  and  Canon  Residentiary 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT      I  3 

of  Norwich  Cathedral,  very  soon  found  that 
he  had  secured  a  treasure.  This  dignitary 
had  very  comprehensive  ideas  as  to  the 
duties  to  be  performed  by  his  curate  in 
charge,  and  was  delighted  to  find  that  his 
new  acquisition  raised  no  objection  to  any- 
thing exacted  from  him. 

But  the  canon  and  his  diocesan,  the  Lord 
Bishop  of  Norwich,  were  not,  I  am  sorry  to 
be  obliged  to  state,  on  such  good  terms  as 
could  be  desired.  The  East  Anglian  prel- 
ate had  been  heard  to  express  in  very  plain 
terms,  in  the  course  of  conversation  at  vari- 
ous times,  his  opinion  of  non-resident  vicars 
who  did  all  their  parish  duties  by  proxy. 
Every  one  knew  that  his  lordship  had  in 
mind  the  Vicar  of  Great  Snoring,  and  the 
vicar,  who  knew  perfectly  well  what  his 
bishop  thought  of  him,  knew  also  that 
every  one  was  saying  of  him  to  themselves: 
"  Thou  art  the  man."  Therefore  he  raged 
inwardly  like  a  very  heathen  and  imagined 
all  kinds  of  vain  things  in  revenge. 

Opportunity  for   revenge    came    in    the 


14      THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

month  when  he  was  next  in  residence  at 
the  cathedral.  There  was  to  be  a  consecra- 
tion of  a  bishop  suffragan  in  the  cathedral 
on  Trinity  Sunday,  and  the  Reverend  Canon 
Steele  was  selected  as  preacher  on  that 
occasion.  It  was  the  canon's  great  oppor- 
tunity and  he  improved  it  to  the  utmost. 
The  subject  of  his  discourse  was  the  ideal 
bishop,  and,  by  way  of  setting  forth  the  per- 
fections of  this  ideal  personage  to  fullest  ad- 
vantage, he  drew  a  strongly  outlined  picture 
of  the  actual  bishop,  in  the  scarcely  attrac- 
tive description  of  whom  it  was  not  difficult 
for  most  persons  present  to  recognise  the 
prominent  characteristics,  somewhat  dis- 
torted, it  is  true,  of  the  East  Anglian  prelate 
then  and  there  present  before  them  on  his 
throne. 

The  dean,  it  must  be  said,  privately  en- 
joyed watching  the  flight  of  this  arrow 
speeding  from  pulpit  to  episcopal  throne, 
for  he  had  had  some  minor  disagreements 
with  the  bishop  himself  in  times  past;  but 
he  did  not  approve  the  canon's  audacity, 


THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT      15 

nevertheless.  The  prelate  listened  to  this 
astounding  discourse  with  a  calm  exterior, 
but  conscious  of  a  wild  desire  through  it  all 
to  fling  the  cushions  of  the  throne  at  the 
impertinent  canon.  That  he  restrained  this 
natural  feeling  goes  without  saying,  for 
what  are  bishops  for  if  not  to  show  us  how 
the  natural  man  may  be,  like  Satan,  beaten 
down  under  our  feet?  When  the  cere- 
monies of  the  morning  were  over  he  lent  an 
approving  ear  to  the  remarks  of  some  of  his 
clergy  upon  the  subject,  who  to  a  man  con- 
demned the  course  of  the  canon.  At  lunch- 
eon in  the  palace,  where  he  had  as  guests 
the  Bishops  of  Ely  and  Lincoln,  his  own 
newly  consecrated  suffragan,  and  the  dean, 
the  subject  was  resumed. 

"  There  ought  to  be  some  way  to  silence 
a  pestilent  fellow  like  that,"  said  the  Bishop 
of  Ely,  and  the  diocesan  of  Lincoln  asked 
the  dean  if  there  were  no  way  by  which  the 
man  could  be  ejected  from  his  place  in  the 
chapter. 

"  I   can   punish  him  in  a  most  effective 


1 6    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

way,  I  think,"  said  the  Bishop  of  Norwich. 
"  The  living  at  St.  Michael-at-Plea  is  in  my 
gift,  as  perhaps  you  know,  and  is  just  now 
vacant.  I  shall  offer  it  to  Noel,  the  curate 
in  charge  at  Great  Snoring.  He  is  a  hard 
and  faithful  worker,  and  Steele  will  not  find 
it  easy  to  replace  him." 

The  bishop  kept  his  word,  and  two  days 
later  the  curate  in  charge  at  Great  Snoring 
was  offered  the  living  of  St.  Michael-at-Plea, 
and  with  the  offer  was  coupled  the  urgent 
desire  of  his  diocesan  that  he  should  accept 
it.  As  before  intimated,  the  offer  was  ac- 
cepted with  very  little  hesitation,  and  thus 
the  Vicar  of  Great  Snoring  lost  his  efficient 
curate,  the  urban  parish  of  St.  Michael-at- 
Plea  gained  an  industrious  rector,  and  the 
bishop  had  his  revenge  upon  the  canon, — 
if  one  may  venture  to  couple  a  bishop  and 
revenge  in  the  same  sentence. 

The  Reverend  Walter  Noel  did  his  duty  as 
faithfully  in  his  new  position  as  he  had  ever 
done  in  his  old  one,  and  this  was  not  in  all 
things  an  easy  matter,  for  on  any  and  every 


THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT    17 

parish  matter  the  churchwardens  of  St. 
Michael-at-Plea  made  it  their  business  to 
hold  opinions  exactly  opposed  to  those  of 
their  rector.  This  was  done,  not  because 
they  disliked  him,  but  by  reason  of  the 
perverse  nature  of  churchwardens  in  gen- 
eral, and  in  this  respect  the  wardens  of  St. 
Michael-at-Plea  offered  no  marked  variation 
from  the  recognised  type. 

The  Bishop  of  Norwich  was  disposed  to 
be  very  friendly  to  the  new  rector  of  St. 
Michael-at-Plea,  and  if  the  prelate's  office 
had  been  a  less  exalted  one,  —  had  he  been 
his  own  suffragan,  for  example,  —  it  might 
have  been  thought  that  this  friendliness  had 
its  origin  in  the  bishop's  enmity  to  the 
absentee  Vicar  of  Great  Snoring,  and 
was  exhibited  with  the  purpose  of  further 
annoying  him.  Be  this  as  it  may  have  been, 
the  Reverend  Walter  Noel  was  continually 
invited  to  the  palace,  and  it  was  rumoured 
in  both  the  Upper  and  the  Lower  Close  after 
a  time  that  the  bishop's  daughter  was  as 
well-disposed  toward  the  Reverend  Walter 


1 8    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

as  her  right  reverend  father.  As  the  bishop's 
favourite  was  a  handsome  young  fellow  of 
twenty-eight,  with  manners  which  pleasea 
nearly  every  one,  whether  gentle  or  simple, 
the  explanation  of  the  general  good-will  felt 
toward  him  at  the  palace  was  not  so  very 
hard  for  the  unprejudiced  mind  to  discover. 

This  marked  favour  to  his  late  curate  was 
naturally  very  displeasing  to  the  canon,  who 
lived  in  the  Lower  Close,  and  knew  precisely 
how  young  Noel  was  honoured  by  his  dio- 
cesan. It  was  all  the  more  vexing  to  him 
because  he  had  not  yet  found  a  curate  who 
could  perform  his  duties  for  him  at  Great 
Snoring  as  satisfactorily  as  the  present 
incumbent  of  St.  Michael-at-Plea  had  done. 
Consequently  he  nourished  a  grudge  against 
the  Reverend  Walter  quite  as  strong  as  that 
hitherto  felt  by  him  for  the  prelate  of  East 
Anglia. 

The  gossip  about  the  bishop's  daughter 
and  his  late  curate  in  charge  was  especially 
annoying  to  him.  Not  that  he  himself 
aspired  to  the  hand  of  the  young  woman, 


THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT      1 9 

for  he  did  not.  In  fact,  he  could  not  have 
done  so,  for  he  had  a  wife  already.  Even  if 
the  bishop's  daughter  would  have  consented 
to  marry  him  under  existing  circumstances, 
in  the  impossible  event  of  the  bishop's  and 
Mrs.  Steele's  joint  approval,  he  was  very 
well  aware  that,  although  the  prayer-book 
has  nothing  to  say  upon  the  subject  of 
vicars  and  canons  residentiary  taking  unto 
themselves  more  than  one  wife  at  a  time, 
it  does  say  very  distinctly  that  bishops  shall 
not  do  so.  Consequently,  as  the  Reverend 
Jonas  Steele  hoped  some  day  to  become  a 
bishop,  he  was  not  likely  to  imperil  his  pros- 
pects in  that  direction  by  any  imitation  of 
Turkish  or  Mormon  practices,  even  had  his 
views  been  lax  in  such  matters,  which  they 
most  certainly  were  not.  But  his  feeling 
against  the  possible  marriage  of  the  two 
people  about  whom  the  mild  gossip  of  the 
Upper  as  well  as  the  Lower  Close  was  now 
centering  was  quite  as  strong  as  if  he  had 
been  the  jealous  rival  of  the  Reverend 
Walter. 


2O    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

But,  though  strong,  it  was  perforce  a  feel- 
ing which  could  not  be  resolved  into  active 
opposition.  He  could  not  go  about  telling 
tales  of  his  former  curate,  even  had  there 
been  any  but  creditable  ones  to  tell.  Nor 
could  he  go  to  the  bishop  and  endeavour  to 
prejudice  that  misguided  church  dignitary 
against  the  young  rector  of  St.  Michael-at- 
Plea.  The  relations  between  himself  and 
his  superior  were  already  so  strained  that 
the  two  gentlemen  avoided  each  other  as 
far  as  possible,  and  it  was  not  to  be  ex- 
pected that  the  bishop  would  pay  much 
attention  to  his  unfriendly  canon  upon  this 
of  all  topics.  He  did  endeavour  to  sound 
the  dean  in  regard  to  the  favour  shown  by 
the  inmates  of  the  palace  to  the  new  incum- 
bent of  St.  Michael-at-Plea,  but  the  dean 
became  suddenly  frigid,  and  the  canon  per- 
ceived that  no  effective  remonstrance  was  to 
be  expected  from  that  quarter. 

As  time  wore  on  matters  seemed  to  adjust 
themselves  more  and  more  in  accordance 
with  the  hopes  of  the  Reverend  Walter,  and 


THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT      21 

less  and  less  in  harmony  with  the  wishes  of 
the  Reverend  Jonas,  and  when  at  last  the 
engagement  of  the  bishop's  daughter  to  his 
former  curate  was  publicly  announced,  the 
canon  started  for  a  tour  on  the  continent, 
presumably  breathing  out  threatenings  and 
slaughter  by  the  way.  As  ill  luck  would 
have  it,  he  returned  on  the  very  day  of  the 
wedding  of  these  two,  and  as  he  alighted 
from  the  train  at  the  Victoria  station  the 
marriage  peals  from  the  cathedral  tower, 
supplemented  by  the  bells  of  St.  Michael- 
at-Plea,  St.  Peter  Mancroft,  St.  Miles's  Cos- 
lany,  St.  John  Maddermarket,  and  the 
thirty  other  parish  churches  of  the  city, 
made  such  a  joyful  din  that  the  poor 
canon  was  driven  nearly  distracted. 

However,  rage  as  he  might,  the  marriage 
was  a  settled  fact  not  to  be  gainsaid,  and 
there  were  certain  matters  of  social  cere- 
mony to  be  observed  by  him  in  relation  to 
the  event  which  he  could  not  neglect,  or 
perhaps  it  would  be  more  correct  to  say 
which  his  wife  would  not  allow  him  to  omit. 


22   THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

And  the  Reverend  Jonas  Steele,  although 
he  did  not  care  a  brass  farthing  for  his 
bishop,  which  was  certainly  not  greatly  to 
his  credit,  was  very  much  in  awe  of  his  wife, 
and  usually  executed  her  commands  without 
much  hesitation.  To  do  fullest  justice  to 
the  potentate  of  his  household,  she  was  not 
usually  unreasonable  in  her  behests. 

While  it  might  have  been  thought  that 
the  bishop's  daughter  had  not  done  very 
well  for  herself  in  marrying  the  rector  of 
St.  Michael-at-Plea,  it  was  generally  acknowl- 
edged that  young  Noel  had  most  decidedly 
bettered  his  condition  by  becoming  the  son- 
in-law  of  the  Lord  Bishop  of  Norwich.  The 
bishop  was  beyond  question  fond  of  this 
handsome  and  deferential  son-in-law  of  his, 
and  favoured  him,  as  was  not  unnatural, 
above  many  clergymen  who  had  been  much 
longer  in  the  diocese,  not  to  say  in  orders. 
But  this  excited  no  jealousy  save  in  one 
house  in  the  Lower  Close,  inhabited  by 
Canon  Steele.  Through  the  bishop's  influ- 
ence backed  by  that  of  the  dean,  the  Rever- 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT      23 

end  Walter  was  preferred,  after  a  year  or  two, 
to  a  minor  canonry  at  the  cathedral,  —  an 
office  which  he  could  hold  without  interfering 
in  any  important  degree  with  his  duties  as 
rector  of  St.  Michael-at-Plea. 

What  his  former  vicar  thought  of  this 
advancement  need  not  perhaps  be  enlarged 
upon.  But,  much  to  the  elder  clergyman's 
chagrin,  he  could  not  open  his  mouth  to 
protest,  since  the  only  lawful  ground  upon 
which  protestation  could  be  placed  was  that 
afforded  by  the  plurality  of  livings  now  held 
by  the  younger  man ;  and  as  his  aggrieved 
opponent  was  at  one  and  the  same  time 
Vicar  of  Great  Snoring  and  Canon  Residen- 
tiary of  the  Diocese  of  Norwich,  it  was  mani- 
festly unwise  for  him  to  invite  discussion  of 
the  plurality  question.  Still,  the  envious 
vicar  might  in  time  have  forgiven  his 
former  curate  for  his  present  prosperity 
had  it  reached  no  higher  pitch. 

But  fortune  was  not  yet  done  with  the 
Reverend  Walter  Noel,  and  had  still  a 
kindly  eye  upon  him.  Thus  it  happened 


24      THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

that,  three  years  after  his  acceptance  of  the 
minor  canonry,  the  colonial  Bishop  of  Atha- 
basca and  Anticosti  dying  of  old  age,  the 
vacant  episcopate  was  offered  to  the  son- 
in-law  of  the  prelate  of  East  Anglia.  Of 
course  it  was  accepted.  How  should  a 
minor  canon  presume  to  oppose  the  will 
of  heaven  as  interpreted  by  the  prime  min- 
ister? And  if  he  had  wished  to  decline 
the  honour  his  wife  would  not  have  listened 
calmly  to  such  a  proposal  for  one  moment. 
To  be  daughter  of  one  bishop  and  wife  of 
another  was  such  a  distinction  as  fell  to  the 
lot  of  but  few  women,  and  she  was  deeply 
sensible  of  its  value,  although  quite  sure  it 
was  no  less  than  she  deserved.  But  she 
was  not  called  upon  to  argue  the  case  with 
her  husband,  who  allowed,  however,  a  digni- 
fied interval  of  delay  to  follow  announce- 
ment and  precede  acceptance.  Delay  did 
not  imply  hesitation  in  obedience  to  com- 
mand. Like  the  worthy  captain  of  the  Man- 
telpiece, "  it  was  his  duty,  and  he  did." 
Nearly  every  one  was  disposed  to  think 


THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT      25 

that  the  influence  of  the  Bishop  of  Norwich 
had  been  exerted  to  bring  about  his  son-in- 
law's  elevation  to  the  colonial  episcopate. 
The  Vicar  of  Great  Snoring  attributed  this 
result  to  the  craft  and  subtlety  of  the  devil, 
but,  sad  to  say,  this  represented  to  his  mind 
very  much  the  same  thing  as  what  his  fellow 
men  called  the  influence  of  their  revered 
bishop.  Which  all  goes  to  show  how  en- 
tirely the  natural  man  may  remain  unsub- 
dued even  when  one  is  a  vicar  and  a  canon 
residentiary  to  boot. 

But  the  Reverend  Jonas  Steele  was  forced 
to  digest  the  venom  of  his  spleen  as  he 
best  could  and  see  his  former  curate  elevated 
to  the  episcopate  with  such  calmness  as  he 
was  able  to  summon  to  such  a  sight.  The 
Bishop  of  Norwich,  who  knew  very  well 
his  canon's  perturbed  state  of  mind  at  this 
period,  was  strenuously  polite  to  his  enemy 
in  the  Lower  Close,  and  took  scrupulous 
pains  to  have  him  invited  to  every  social 
entertainment  given  in  honour  of  the  new 
bishop  before  his  departure.  And  to  these 


26    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

festivities,  willy-nilly,  he  went,  Mrs.  Steele 
making  it  plainly  apparent  that  no  other 
course  was  open  for  his  adoption.  It  was 
therefore  a  happy  day  for  him  when  the 
new  Bishop  of  Athabasca  and  Anticosti 
was  fairly  embarked  for  the  journey  to  that 
distant  diocese,  and  he  hoped  that  that  prel- 
ate would  never  again  cross  his  path. 

Yet  it  was  no  bed  of  flowery  ease  to  which 
the  Right  Reverend  Walter  Noel  was  trav- 
elling with  his  ambitious  wife,  and  if  his 
enemy  in  the  Lower  Close  at  Norwich  could 
have  had  a  more  definite  knowledge  of  the 
trials  incident  to  the  life  of  a  colonial  bishop 
in  British  America  he  would  have  felt  much 
better  reconciled  to  the  promotion  of  his 
old-time  curate. 

With  that  pleasing  indifference  to  consid- 
erations of  distance  and  of  geography  gen- 
erally which  characterises  the  framers  of 
colonial  sees,  the  diocese  over  which  the 
former  incumbent  of  St.  Michael-at-Plea 
was  now  to  extend  beneficent  sway  was 
composed  of  two  portions  of  Her  Gracious 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT      27 

Majesty's  possessions  in  North  America, 
some  five  thousand  miles  apart.  The  west- 
ern division  skirted  the  eastern  slopes  of 
the  Rocky  Mountains  much  nearer  to  the 
Arctic  Circle  than  would  be  at  all  desirable 
for  continued  residence,  in  the  opinion  of 
most  people,  and  the  eastern  portion  con- 
sisted of  the  nearly  barren  and  wholly  unat- 
tractive island  of  Anticosti,  at  the  mouth  of 
the  St.  Lawrence  River.  If  Mrs.  Noel  had 
indulged  herself  in  the  hope  of  being  mis- 
tress of  an  episcopal  palace  once  more,  she 
was  soon  convinced  of  the  folly  of  such 
hopes.  The  few  churches  were  rough  log 
structures,  and  the  episcopal  palaces  were 
the  rude  log  hut  on  the  western  shore  of 
Lake  Athabasca,  where  the  Noels's  resi- 
dence was  nominally  fixed  for  one-half  the 
year,  and  the  equally  humble  frame  building 
in  a  secluded  valley  on  the  southern  side 
of  Anticosti,  where  they  were  supposed  to 
dwell  during  the  other  half.  In  reality  they 
passed  very  little  time  in  either  abode,  for 
their  journeys  to  and  from  Athabasca  and 


28    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

Anticosti  occupied  many  tedious  weeks,  and 
the  bishop  found  it  necessary  to  be  continu- 
ally moving  about  through  the  Athabascan 
district,  as  well  as  the  island  part  of  his 
bishopric,  in  sledges  and  on  snow-shoes  in 
winter  and  in  summer  in  canoes.  And 
whenever  it  was  practicable  for  her  to  do 
so,  Mrs.  Noel  accompanied  him. 

Perhaps  it  might  not  be  exactly  true  to 
state  that  the  bishop  enjoyed  an  existence 
of  this  nature,  which  offered  about  as  little 
chance  for  the  indulgence  of  dignified  epis- 
copal repose  as  the  life  of  a  porter  at  a 
bustling  railway  junction ;  but  he  thrived 
under  its  hard  discipline  and  did  his  duty 
in  that  station  of  life  to  which  it  had  pleased 
God  to  call  him,  with  commendable  fidelity 
to  the  teachings  of  the  catechism.  As  was 
to  be  expected,  the  change  from  the  pleasant 
and  familiar  activities  of  life  at  the  East 
Anglian  capital  to  the  nomadic  existence 
which  was  now  the  lot  of  the  Noels  in  the 
wilds  of  British  America  was  felt  most 
strongly  by  the  bishop's  wife.  But  pride 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT      29 

helped  her  to  face  the  situation  bravely  and 
accept  its  privations  with  fortitude.  And  in 
the  most  trying  times  it  was  a  consolation 
to  feel  that  she  was  a  bishop's  wife,  no  less 
than  a  bishop's  daughter.  Still  there  were 
moments  when  both  realised  that  their 
enemy  in  the  Lower  Close  would  have  little 
occasion  to  think  they  had  triumphed  over 
him  could  he  know  just  how  their  life  was 
passed  in  those  hyperborean  latitudes. 

But  I  do  not  imagine  that  the  Norwich 
friends  or  foes  of  Bishop  and  Mrs.  Noel 
ever  gained  a  very  clear  notion  of  what  life 
was  like  in  either  Athabasca  or  Anticosti, 
for  Mrs.  Noel,  who  attended  to  the  corre- 
spondence, was  far  from  explicit  as  to  her 
details,  and  enlarged  only  upon  the  pleas- 
antest  features  of  residence  in  her  husband's 
see.  Norwich  vaguely  surmised  that  no 
such  gray  old  cathedral  as  its  own  was  to 
be  found  in  Athabasca,  and  gathered  that 
travelling  was  sometimes  a  little  difficult  in 
cold  weather,  but  whether  this  latter  were 
owing  to  the  want  of  good  post-horses,  or 


30     THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

because  the  railway  carriages  were  imper- 
fectly heated,  was  not  precisely  clear  to  the 
Norwich  mind,  and,  thanks  to  Mrs.  Noel,  it 
knew  very  little  more  than  this.  And  the 
Vicar  of  Great  Snoring  still  absented  him- 
self from  his  rural  parish  from  year's  end 
to  year's  end,  and  abode  in  the  Lower  Close 
nourishing  his  wrath  against  the  distant 
Bishop  of  Athabasca  and  Anticosti,  —  a 
wrath  continually  fermented  by  frequent 
meetings  with  his  other  foe  of  the  episco- 
pate, the  occupant  of  the  palace  at  the  north 
side  of  the  cathedral. 

One  morning,  some  five  years  after  the 
departure  of  Bishop  Noel  from  Norwich, 
the  diocesan  of  Norwich  and  the  dean, 
while  passing  out  of  the  Upper  Close  by 
way  of  the  southern  or  Ethelbert  Gate- 
way, met  the  Reverend  Jonas  Steele  just 
turning  out  of  St.  Faith's  Lane,  close  at 
hand. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Steele,"  said  the 
prelate,  blandly.  "  I  have  some  news  that 
ought  to  please  you.  The  dean  and  I  have 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT     31 

just  heard  that  my  son-in-law,  the  Bishop 
of  Athabasca  and  Anticosti,  you  know,  is 
likely  to  be  preferred  to  the  archbishopric 
of  St.  Lucia." 

It  must  be  admitted  that  the  bishop  chose 
his  words  well.  He  did  not  say,  as  another 
and  a  clumsier  man  might  have  said,  "  I 
have  some  news  which  I  am  sure  will  please 
you,"  thereby  running  directly  counter  to 
the  truth  at  the  very  start.  He  merely 
alluded  to  the  intelligence  as  information 
which  ought  to  please  his  hearer.  And  he 
was  quite  right  in  putting  it  thus,  for  the 
canon  being  presumably,  and  certainly  ex 
officio,  a  Christian,  ought  naturally  to  have 
been  pleased  at  the  good  fortune  which  had 
fallen  to  the  lot  of  his  former  curate.  But 
his  face  expressed  anything  but  friendly 
pleasure  at  this  moment.  He  glared  for  an 
instant  at  the  dean  and  his  companion, 
mumbled  something  not  very  intelligible, 
that  might  have  been  indicative  of  joy  at 
the  news,  but  sounded  very  unlike  it,  added 
that  he  was  in  great  haste  just  then,  and 


32    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

hurried  away  under  Ethelbert's  dark  arch 
into  the  Upper  Close. 

"  He  has  never  forgiven  you  for  what  you 
said  about  absenteeism  years  ago,  nor  for 
depriving  him  of  his  curate  in  charge,"  said 
the  dean  as  they  walked  on. 

"  No,"  said  the  bishop,  as  calmly  as  if  the 
fact  did  not  disturb  him  in  the  least,  but  was 
on  the  whole  rather  satisfying  to  contem- 
plate ;  "  I  don't  think  he  has." 

After  all,  the  Reverend  Jonas  was  not  in 
such  great  haste,  as  it  proved,  for  while  he 
was  still  in  sight  of  his  ecclesiastical  supe- 
riors he  turned  and  shook  his  fist  at  his 
bishop's  retreating  back,  —  a  high-handed 
proceeding,  so  to  speak,  and  one  not  to  be 
commended,  although  not  expressly  forbid- 
den by  the  rubrics,  —  perhaps  because  the 
commission  of  such  an  act  was  never  con- 
templated as  a  possibility  by  the  framers  of 
those  ecclesiastical  barbed-wire  fences.  "  I 
don't  believe  it  is  true,"  he  said,  half  aloud, 
and  quite  unaware  that  his  extraordinary 
gesture  had  been  witnessed  by  half  a  dozen 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT      33 

wondering  tourists  sauntering  through  the 
Upper  Close. 

But  in  his  heart  he  felt  that  it  must  be 
true  all  the  same,  and  confirmation  of  the 
bishop's  words  followed  quickly.  In  a  very 
little  while  all  Norwich  had  heard  that  Bishop 
Noel  was  offered  the  archbishopric  of  St. 
Lucia,  with  jurisdiction  over  Grenada  and 
St.  Vincent  also,  and  later  it  knew  that  the 
office  had  been  accepted,  and  that  the  Bishop 
of  Athabasca  and  Anticosti  was  coming  back 
to  England  to  be  consecrated,  and  to  remain 
for  a  few  weeks  before  taking  up  the  duties 
of  his  archdiocese  in  the  West  Indies.  Then, 
three  months  later,  the  much  discussed  dig- 
nitary returned  to  Norwich  with  his  wife. 
And  Norwich  received  the  archbishop  in 
posse  with  open  arms. 

Of  course  the  consecration  was  to  be  in 
the  cathedral  of  the  East  Anglian  diocese, 
and  a  most  imposing  ceremony  it  was  when 
it  took  place.  More  than  half  of  the  Angli- 
can episcopate  was  present  on  the  occasion, 
and  deans,  archdeacons,  and  canons  of  every 


34     THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

degree  were  as  plentiful  as  blackberries  in 
a  hedge.  The  office  of  consecration  was 
begun  by  the  Bishop  of  Ely,  and  to  him 
succeeded  his  neighbour  of  Peterborough, 
who  read  the  epistle,  and  his  lordship  of 
Lincoln,  who  read  the  gospel.  After  this 
the  colonial  prelate  was  presented  to  the 
Primate  of  Canterbury  by  the  Archbishops 
of  York  and  Armagh,  and  in  due  form  was 
made  Archbishop  of  St.  Lucia  and  the  adja- 
cent islands  of  Grenada  and  St.  Vincent, 
and  vested  with  the  archiepiscopal  habit. 

It  is,  perhaps,  needless  to  state  that  the 
sermon  at  this  consecration  was  not  deliv- 
ered by  the  Reverend  Canon  Steele,  who 
by  this  time  was  quite  too  full  of  the  emo- 
tions specified  in  the  latter  half  of  the 
seventh  petition  of  the  Litany  to  be  able 
to  speak  the  truth  in  love  from  the  cathedral 
pulpit.  Instead,  the  preacher  was  the  lord 
spiritual  of  Norwich,  who  was  at  this  time 
more  eloquent  than  usual,  it  was  generally 
remarked.  As  he  mounted  the  pulpit  stairs 
he  caught  the  baleful  glance  of  Canon  Steele, 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT  35 

who  was  frowning  blackly  in  his  stall  next 
the  dean,  and  the  visual  encounter  lent  a 
ring  of  exultation  to  the  bishop's  first  words, 
as  those  of  one  who  drinks  delight  of  battle 
when  bounding  into  the  arena  of  conflict. 
Not  that  he  regarded  the  Reverend  Jonas 
Steele  as  one  of  his  peers  by  any  means. 
Far  from  it. 

The  ceremony  of  consecration  was  a  pro- 
tracted one,  but  as  the  rite  when  adminis- 
tered to  an  archbishop  is  far  from  common 
at  Canterbury  or  York,  and  was  quite  un- 
known at  Norwich,  nobody  complained  of 
its  length,  and  when  it  was  over  every  one 
watched  with  regret  the  long  train  of  vested 
and  hooded  archbishops,  bishops,  deans,  and 
other  clergy  as  they  passed  out  of  the  choir 
to  the  robing-rooms  in  the  south  transept. 
The  sunlight  streaming  through  the  great 
lights  of  the  clerestory  flashed  upon  the 
many-coloured  hoods  of  the  clergy  and  the 
scarlet  gowns  of  one  or  two  of  the  bishops 
who  appeared  in  their  convocation  robes, 
and  filled  the  glorious  choir  from  apse  to 


36   THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

organ  with  golden  splendour,  but  utterly 
failed  to  dispel  the  gloom  that  rested  upon 
the  countenance  of  Canon  Steele  as  he 
passed  out  with  the  rest. 

Later  in  the  day  a  little  comfort  came  to 
him,  when  at  evensong  the  Psalter  was 
chanted  and  he  heard  the  clear  soprano 
voice  of  James  Canforth,  one  of  the  smaller 
choir-boys,  taking  as  a  solo  the  sentence, 
"  Let  his  days  be  few  and  let  another  take 
his  office."  Once  more  he  glanced  at  his 
diocesan,  who  sat  on  his  throne  as  usual,  and 
then  at  the  new  Archbishop  of  St.  Lucia 
sitting  in  state  in  the  apse  beyond  the  altar. 
The  bishop  followed  the  direction  of  the 
glance  and  bit  his  lips  in  vexation  as  he 
divined  of  what  the  canon  was  thinking. 
"  It  was  a  most  unfortunate  thing  that  that 
solo  should  have  come  in  to-day's  Psalter," 
he  thought,  and  a  vague  sense  of  apprehen- 
sion for  a  moment  swept  across  him  as  he 
leaned  back  among  the  purple  throne  hang- 
ings. It  was  gone  almost  as  quickly  as  it 
came,  and,  turning  his  head,  he  met  the 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT     37 

canon's  gaze,  once  more  bent  on  him,  with 
a  serene  expression  seemingly  implying  a 
mind  peculiarly  at  peace  within. 

Time  passed  rapidly  enough  with  the 
archbishop,  and  it  now  wanted  but  a  fort- 
night of  the  date  when  he  and  Mrs.  Noel 
were  to  sail  for  Castries,  the  principal  port 
of  their  tropical  archdiocese.  He  was  think- 
ing a  little  regretfully  of  this  one  morning  as 
he  was  walking  toward  St.  Ethelbert's  Gate 
on  his  way  to  call  upon  a  friend  in  the  Upper 
Close.  Behind  him  at  some  little  distance 
walked  the  Reverend  Jonas  Steele  —  seeking 
whom  he  might  devour,  I  had  almost  added. 
Through  the  gateway  could  be  seen  one  of 
the  choir-boys  coming  toward  it  from  the 
inner  or  Close  side. 

Suddenly,  from  the  dark  archway  of  St. 
Faith's  Lane  on  the  right,  a  large  pig  darted 
at  a  high  rate  of  speed  directly  toward  the 
archbishop.  The  animal  was  in  part  re- 
strained by  an  old  woman  holding  a  rope, 
the  other  end  of  which  was  fastened  about 
its  leg.  She  was  hurrying  after  him  at  a 


38    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

pace  which  was  not  wholly  of  her  own  choos- 
ing, for  her  captive  was  evidently  much  the 
stronger  of  the  two  and  was  aware  of  the 
fact.  The  pig,  plainly  with  one  dominant 
thought,  to  escape  from  his  owner,  and  re- 
garding the  Archbishop  of  St.  Lucia  and 
islands  adjacent  no  more  than  if  that  reverend 
person  had  been  a  curate  on  the  smallest  pos- 
sible stipend,  went  plunging  heedlessly  for- 
ward across  the  roadway.  The  archbishop, 
attempting  to  dodge  the  impetuous  animal, 
was  entangled  in  the  coils  of  the  long  rope 
and  thrown  down  in  the  dust  of  the  roadway, 
while  the  pig,  wrenching  himself  free  from 
the  rope,  scampered  over  the  prostrate  digni- 
tary and  was  instantly  lost  to  view  in  the 
Upper  Close. 

There  were  three  witnesses  to  the  arch- 
bishop's overthrow, — the  old  woman  who  had 
lost  her  pig  by  his  unwilling  assistance,  the 
chorister,  who  happened  to  be  the  same  that 
had  sung  in  the  cathedral  some  weeks  before 
"  Let  his  days  be  few  and  let  another  take 
his  office,"  and  Canon  Steele.  The  last  named 


THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT  39 

person  drew  back  to  one  side  of  the  gateway 
out  of  sight,  but  near  enough  to  hear  the 
archbishop  mutter,  as  he  picked  himself  up, 
quite  out  of  temper  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  "  Damn  that  pig."  And  the  old  woman 
and  the  choir-boy  were  near  enough  to  hear 
the  objurgation,  too. 

Now,  while  I  have  no  intention  of  defend- 
ing the  archbishop,  who  had  thus  in  an 
unguarded  moment  yielded  to  the  prompt- 
ings of  the  old  Adam  within  him,  I  cannot 
help  considering  that  there  was  much  in  the 
occasion  partly  to  excuse  if  not  to  justify  his 
hasty  exclamation.  And  perhaps  those  who 
are  disposed  to  condemn  his  utterance  in  the 
harshest  and  most  unqualified  manner  will 
kindly  indicate  what  should  be  said  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment  by  an  archbishop  who 
has  been  knocked  down  in  the  street  by  a 
runaway  pig,  and  who  is  suffering  from 
bruised  knees,  as  well  as  from  wounded 
dignity.  Canon  law  is  as  silent  as  the 
rubrics  on  this  point,  and  beyond  question 
it  is  incumbent  upon  any  man,  whether  he 


4O     THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

be  humblest  layman  or  proudest  archbishop, 
to  say  something  which  shall  not  be  mani- 
festly inappropriate  to  the  demands  of  the 
occasion. 

The  archbishop,  as  he  arose,  hardly 
noticed  the  presence  of  the  old  woman  and 
the  small  chorister,  but,  brushing  the  dust 
from  his  coat  and  his  torn  archiepiscopal 
apron,  he  walked  rapidly  away  from  the 
scene  of  his  downfall  into  the  Upper  Close, 
leaving  the  choir-boy  and  his  companion 
staring  after  him  open-mouthed.  Then,  and 
not  till  then,  the  Reverend  Jonas  came  into 
view  from  his  hiding-place. 

"  That  was  the  new  archbishop  who  fell 
down,  wasn't  it  ?  "  he  asked  of  the  boy. 

"  That  it  was,  sir,"  replied  the  other,  doff- 
ing his  cap  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  trust  he  wasn't  much  hurt,"  continued 
the  canon,  amiably ;  "  I  thought  I  heard  him 
groan  as  I  came  up." 

"That  was  him  a-cussin',  sir,"  said  the 
choir-boy,  becoming  voluble.  "Oh,  sir,  he 
cussed  that  pig  just  awful." 


THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT   4! 

"  That  he  did,"  interposed  the  old  woman, 
"  and  there's  not  a  finer  pig  in  Norwich, 
which  was  meanin'  'im  no  'arm  if  he  'adn't 
got  in  the  way  like,  as  no  pig  will  stand  from 
any  man." 

"  Well,  I  wouldn't  say  any  more  about  it," 
said  the  canon,  serenely.  "  Perhaps  you  both 
misunderstood  him."  Then  turning  to  the 
boy,  he  added,  in  a  lower  tone,  as  he  put  a 
sixpence  into  the  fingers  that  closed  quickly 
upon  it :  "  Come  to  my  house  this  afternoon, 
Canforth,  at  two  o'clock,  I  have  something 
I  want  to  say  to  you  then ;  and  take  my  ad- 
vice and  say  nothing  about  the  archbishop's 
accident." 

"  That  I  won't,  sir,"  was  the  reply,  and  the 
boy  skipped  rapidly  away  up  St.  Faith's 
Lane,  and  the  canon  was  left  alone  with  the 
old  woman. 

"  I  think  Mrs.  Steele  would  like  to  see  you 
this  afternoon  about  washing  some  sur- 
plices, Mrs.  Ridd,"  began  the  clergyman. 
"  She  has  heard  of  your  skill,  and  wants  to 
test  it ;  so  if  you  will  go  to  my  house  in  the 


42      THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

Lower  Close  about  half  after  two,  she  will  see 
you  about  the  matter,  and,  by  the  way,  I 
think  you  had  best  say  nothing  to  your 
neighbours  at  present  about  the  mishap  to 
the  new  archbishop." 

The  old  woman  courtesied  awkwardly, 
and  departed  in  pursuit  of  the  pig  whose 
misguided  and  errant  career  was  destined  to 
work  such  evil  to  the  Establishment,  and 
the  canon  walked  homeward  in  a  happier 
state  of  mind  than  he  had  been  in  for  a  long 
time.  And  there  was  abundant  cause  for 
self-congratulation,  for  the  great  opportunity 
of  a  lifetime  was  now  within  the  eager  grasp 
of  the  Reverend  Jonas  Steele. 

At  precisely  four  o'clock  on  the  afternoon 
of  the  same  day  the  canon  was  leaving  the 
Thorpe  station  for  London.  The  Bishop  of 
Norwich  was  returning  from  Great  Yarmouth 
at  the  same  time,  and  as  the  two  dignitaries 
met  in  the  station  they  recognised  each 
other  as  stiffly  as  usual.  There  was,  how- 
ever, a  gleam  in  the  canon's  eyes  which  his 
diocesan  did  not  altogether  like. 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT  43 

"  He  means  mischief,  I  am  very  sure," 
soliloquised  the  bishop,  on  his  way  to  the 
palace.  "  I  wish  I  knew  what  he  was  up 
to  now." 

But  his  lordship  ascertained  his  canon's 
errand  much  sooner  than  he  hoped  for,  and 
far  too  soon  for  his  peace  of  mind. 

That  evening  the  card  of  the  Rev.  Jonas 
Steele,  Vicar  of  Great  Snoring  and  Canon 
Residentiary  of  Norwich,  was  sent  in  to  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury  at  Lambeth  pal- 
ace, and  the  primate  was  soon  listening  with 
astonished  ears  to  grave  charges  against  the 
Archbishop  of  St.  Lucia,  preferred  by  his 
visitor,  and  supported  by  the  written  depo- 
sitions before  an  attorney  of  James  Canforth, 
chorister  of  Norwich  Cathedral,  and  Mrs. 
Ann  Ridd,  laundress,  residing  in  St.  Faith's 
Lane,  Norwich,  ear  witnesses  to  the  offence 
charged. 

Two  days  later  the  episcopal  city  of  East 
Anglia  was  shaken  from  centre  to  circum- 
ference by  the  news  that  its  new  idol,  the 
Archbishop  of  St.  Lucia,  was  charged  with 


44      THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

the  sin  of  profane  swearing,  and  that  he  was 
to  be  summoned  for  trial  before  the  highest 
ecclesiastical  authority  in  the  realm.  For 
one  whole  day  every  one  was  sure  that  the 
news  must  be  false,  and  that  it  was  a  slander 
upon  the  archbishop.  Then  it  was  whis- 
pered about  that  the  accused  had  admitted 
his  offence,  and  consternation  became  gen- 
eral. 

Deep  gloom  enveloped  the  palace  where 
the  archbishop  and  his  wife  were  visiting 
her  father.  Mrs.  Noel  was  ill  with  morti- 
fication, and  the  bishop  was  angry  enough 
with  the  Reverend  Canon  Steele  to  have 
hurled  at  him  the  objurgation  which  his 
son-in-law  had  addressed  to  the  pig,  if  that 
would  have  accomplished  the  end  desired. 
He  did  not  blame  his  daughter's  hus- 
band in  the  least,  but  it  did  seem  to  the 
bishop  the  very  irony  of  fate  that  the 
canon  should  have  been  by  on  the  occa- 
sion of  the  archbishop's  encounter  with  the 

Pig- 
In  fact,  hardly  any  one  did  seriously  blame 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT     45 

the  archbishop.  Even  one  of  the  Norwich 
newspapers,  which  headed  an  editorial  on 
the  important  topic  with  the  line,  "  But 
then  he  swore  —  unreverend  man  !  "  was  dis- 
posed to  take  the  most  lenient  view  possible 
of  the  matter.  As  for  the  reverend  culprit 
himself,  he  was  quite  as  penitent  as  any  one 
could  desire,  more  so,  his  militant  father-in- 
law  thought,  than  was  at  all  needful,  con- 
sidering that  his  accuser  was  that  dragon  of 
mischief  in  the  Lower  Close.  The  elder  man 
was  disposed  to  look  for  historical  precedent 
to  justify  the  alleged  offence,  and  instanced 
the  fact  that  the  famous  Bishop  Atterbury 
was  sometimes  heard  to  make  use  of  the 
word  "  damn  "  when  he  was  not  engaged  in 
the  regular  services  of  the  church,  but  this 
fact,  undeniable  as  it  may  have  been,  did 
not  tend  to  remove  from  the  archbishop's 
shoulders  a  particle  of  his  own  responsibil- 
ity. 

But  if  there  was  gloom  in  the  palace, 
there  was  at  least  the  shadow  of  a  shade 
in  one  house  in  the  Lower  Close,  for  Mrs. 


46    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

Steele  had  pointedly  observed  to  her  hus- 
band that  he  had  meddled  with  what  was 
none  of  his  business,  and  that  he  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  himself.  He  by  no 
means  agreed  with  her  as  to  her  first  state- 
ment, and  was,  to  tell  the  truth,  not  in  the 
least  ashamed  of  what  he  had  done ;  but 
such  emphatic  disapproval  of  him  on  his 
own  hearthstone  rather  took  the  edge 
from  his  enjoyment  of  his  rival's  discom- 
fiture. 

It  was  now  August,  and  the  hearing  of 
Archbishop  Noel's  case  before  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury  was  to  be  had  in 
September.  Of  course,  all  plans  for  going 
to  St.  Lucia  were  indefinitely  deferred  by 
the  Noels,  who  were  now  rarely  seen  out- 
side the  cathedral  precincts.  Not  only  the 
diocese  of  Norwich,  but  the  whole  Estab- 
lished Church,  was  stirred  up  over  the 
matter.  The  Reverend  Jonas  Steele  was 
acquiring  a  great  deal  of  notoriety  at  this 
juncture,  but  even  the  few  persons  who 
blamed  the  archbishop  severely  were  not 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT  47 

disposed  to  approve  of  the  course  the  canon 
had  taken.  But  that  individual,  who  by  this 
time  had  openly  defied  Mrs.  Steele  at  least 
twice  in  regard  to  his  line  of  conduct,  was 
more  than  satisfied  with  himself,  and  here 
he  possessed  a  decided  advantage  over  the 
archbishop. 

These  were,  indeed,  evil  days  for  that  dig- 
nitary. After  living  in  the  most  exemplary 
fashion  all  his  life,  and  bearing  uncomplain- 
ingly all  the  hardships  that  had  fallen  to  his 
lot  in  the  past,  to  have  now  in  an  unguarded 
moment  laid  himself  open  to  the  darts  of 
the  adversary  (the  common  enemy  of  man- 
kind and  the  foe  in  the  Lower  Close  were 
seemingly  not  wholly  disassociated  in  the 
archiepiscopal  meditations), —  it  was  all  very 
hard,  so  the  archbishop  thought,  and  his 
wife  and  father-in-law  agreed  with  him  most 
entirely. 

The  solemn  hearing  came  on  at  last,  and 
all  England  read  with  eagerness  the  meagre 
accounts  of  it  furnished  to  the  daily  papers, 
and  waited  anxiously  for  the  primate's  de- 


48    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

cision.  It  was  acknowledged  on  all  sides 
that  his  Grace  of  Canterbury  was  placed 
in  a  most  difficult  position,  since  there  was 
but  little  light  to  be  obtained  from  historic 
precedent.  Bishops  had  received  the  cen- 
sure of  the  Church  before  now,  and  not 
seldom,  if  one  reckoned  by  centuries;  but 
it  was  not  often  that  an  archbishop  was 
brought  to  the  bar  of  an  ecclesiastical  tribu- 
nal. It  was  true  enough  that  the  Primate  of 
All  England  had  been  tried  in  the  time 
of  Charles  the  First,  but  for  treason  and  not 
for  profane  speech,  and.  as  he  was  tried  by 
laymen  and  not  by  his  peers,  there  was 
nothing  to  be  learned  by  referring  to  the 
case  of  Archbishop  Laud. 

As  the  accused  did  not  deny  the  offence 
with  which  he  was  charged,  and  as,  more- 
over, the  united  testimony  of  the  canon,  the 
choir-boy,  and  the  laundress  could  not  be 
therefore  effectually  disproved,  the  defence 
rested  wholly  upon  the  extenuating  circum- 
stances connected  with  the  case.  And  a 
very  ingenious  and  interesting  defence  it 


THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT    49 

was.  How  much  weight  it  would  have 
with  the  most  reverend  and  right  honour- 
able personage  to  whom  it  was  addressed 
remained  to  be  seen. 

The  successor  of  St.  Augustine  chose  to 
reserve  his  decision  for  a  whole  month,  to 
the  vexatious  suspense  of  the  entire  Estab- 
lishment. The  Archbishop  of  St.  Lucia 
bore  the  added  period  of  waiting  much 
better  than  his  right  reverend  relative,  who 
by  this  time  could  not  behold  the  obnoxious 
canon,  in  the  cathedral  or  out  of  it,  without 
experiencing  a  strong  desire  to  choke  him ; 
and  had  taken  to  attending  daily  prayers 
at  St.  Peter  Mancroft  rather  than  hear  his 
enemy  —  whose  month  in  residence  had 
just  then  come  around — read  them  at  the 
cathedral. 

Late  October  brought  with  it  the  pri- 
mate's decision.  It  was  a  document  of 
considerable  length  that  roared  aloud  and 
thundered  vaguely  in  the  index,  but  became 
perforce  more  explicit  as  it  proceeded.  His 
lordship,  after  informing  mankind  in  general, 


50    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

and  the  clergy  in  particular,  that  the  tongue 
is  an  exceedingly  unruly  member,  needing 
to  be  held  constantly  in  check,  went  on  to 
set  forth  that,  to  the  scandal  of  the  Church 
"  and  Christianity,"  as  the  late  Mrs.  Proudie 
was  accustomed  to  add,  thereby  unwittingly 
divorcing  the  Establishment  from  Christian- 
ity, the  Most  Reverend  Archbishop  of  St. 
Lucia  had  in  an  unguarded  moment  been 
guilty  of  the  lamentable  sin  of  profane 
speaking.  The  offence  having  been  tes- 
tified to  by  several  competent  witnesses 
("  Competent  witnesses  !  no  such  thing !  " 
stormed  the  Bishop  of  Norwich  when  he 
came  to  read  this  part  of  his  superior's 
decision),  as  well  as  confessed  by  the  arch- 
bishop himself,  the  successor  of  St.  Augus- 
tine, recognising  that  the  honour  of  the 
Church  and  Christianity  was  herein  deeply 
involved,  felt  that  the  error  was  one  which 
could  not  be  lightly  passed  over.  (At  this 
point  in  his  reading  the  spiritual  ruler  of 
Norwich  declared  that  the  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury  had  not  an  atom  of  sense  in  his 


THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT   51 

head,  a  declaration  which  to  other  and  less 
impetuous  minds  than  his  lordship's  might 
have  seemed  to  lack  fullest  confirmation.) 
He  therefore  inhibited  the  Archbishop  of 
St.  Lucia  from  exercising  spiritual  juris- 
diction within  the  archdiocese  over  which 
he  had  lately  been  called  to  preside,  and 
declared  that  the  archiepiscopate  of  that 
region  was  to  remain  vacant  until  a  suit- 
able person  should  be  found  to  fill  it  worth- 
ily. ("  Tautology,"  sneered  the  East  Anglian 
prelate  to  himself,  as  he  read,  for  rhetoric 
was  one  of  the  lesser  dignitary's  strong 
points.  "  He  never  could  write  a  decent 
English  sentence  to  save  his  life.")  Further- 
more, the  Archbishop  of  St.  Lucia  was  com- 
manded to  abstain  from  the  performance  of 
all  clerical  functions  until  such  time  as  his 
ecclesiastical  superior  should  deem  fit  and 
proper,  and  enjoined,  moreover,  to  cultivate 
in  the  meantime  a  chastened  sobriety  of 
deportment.  "  Chastened  sobriety !  "  said  the 
bishop,  in  a  rage,  as  he  flung  the  primate's 
decision  upon  the  floor.  "  Do  you  hear  that, 


52    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

Walter  ?  Why,  the  man's  an  idiot,"  he  con- 
tinued, half  forgetting  momentarily  the  sub- 
stance of  the  decision  in  his  scorn  for  its 
expression. 

There  was  silence  in  the  palace  for  a  few 
moments  after  the  reading  was  finished,  and 
then  the  bishop  burst  forth  again. 

"  It  is  all  that  confounded,  miserable 
Steele's  doing,"  he  exclaimed,  angrily. 

"  Take  care,"  said  the  archbishop,  trying 
to  smile,  "  you  may  be  reported  to  the  pri- 
mate next  and  suspended ; "  and  then  he 
turned  away  suddenly,  his  handsome  face 
paling,  his  lips  quivering,  and  shut  himself 
in  his  room  alone  for  hours. 

And  the  bishop  knew  that  his  beloved  son- 
in-law  had  received  a  blow  that  had  nearly 
crushed  him,  and  pity  for  him  and  for  his 
daughter,  who  would  suffer  through  her 
husband,  contended  in  the  bishop's  breast 
with  the  wrath  he  experienced  against  the 
primate  and  the  contempt  he  felt  for  the 
canon,  who  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  whole 
miserable  business. 


THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT    53 

That  night  the  Reverend  Jonas  Steele 
was  burnt  in  effigy  before  the  Erpingham 
Gateway  of  the  cathedral  precincts  by  some 
enthusiastic  young  persons,  and  it  was 
rumoured  in  Norwich,  and  never  authorita- 
tively contradicted,  that  these  same  per- 
sons were  afterward  regaled  with  meat 
and  ale  in  the  servants'  hall  at  the  pal- 
ace by  the  bishop's  express  orders,  and  for 
one  I  am  quite  disposed  to  credit  the  state- 
ment. 

However,  to  be  burnt  in  effigy  breaks  no 
bones,  and  the  Reverend  Jonas,  ignoring  so 
far  as  possible  the  fact  that  he  was  now 
pretty  generally  detested  by  the  clergy  and 
laity  alike  in  the  cathedral  city,  and  attempt- 
ing, with  far  less  success,  to  ignore  the 
reproaches  of  Mrs.  Steele,  was  able  to  con- 
template the  result  of  his  labours  with  a 
good  deal  of  satisfaction.  He  had  brought 
low  in  the  dust  the  pride  and  presumption 
of  the  Bishop  of  Norwich,  and  had  trodden, 
as  it  were,  the  Archbishop  of  St.  Lucia 
under  his  feet.  He  had  been  the  unworthy 


54      THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

instrument,  so  he  delighted  in  telling  him- 
self, by  which  the  honour  of  the  Establish- 
ment had  been  abundantly  vindicated,  and 
after  long  years  of  waiting  he  had  seen  his 
desire  upon  his  enemies. 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BISHOP 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BISHOP 


"  If  a  man  desire  the  office  of  a  bishop,  he  desireth  a  good 
work." 


THE  emergence  of  the  full-blown  bishop 
from  the  ordinary  clerical  chrysalis  is, 
in  our  day  and  generation,  one  of  the  long 
results  of  time,  though  an  event  that  in 
some  instances  dawns  more  speedily  than 
in  others.  In  bygone  centuries  matters 
were  different  in  this  respect.  In  those 
delectable  times  one  might  sometimes  wear 
the  mitre  almost  as  soon  as  the  toga  virilis 
was  assumed,  if  it  happened  to  please 
certain  great  ones  of  the  earth,  lay  and 
clerical,  to  order  it  thus.  It  was  not  then 
invariably  demanded  that  a  bishop  should 
be  no  "  novice,  lest  he  be  lifted  up  with 
pride."  Indeed,  it  was  expected  of  bishops 

57 


58    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

that  they  should  be  proud,  St.  Paul's  ad- 
monitions to  the  contrary  notwithstanding. 
Even  yet,  certain  bearers  of  the  crosier  show 
lingering  traces  of  this  quality  in  the  sight 
of  men.  But  in  these  latest  days  of  the 
Church,  a  man  must  be  at  least  thirty  years 
of  age  before  his  elevation  to  the  episcopate 
is  possible,  and  few  there  are  who  feel  upon 
their  brows  the  weight  of  a  mitre  before 
their  fortieth  milestone  is  passed.  The 
office  is  most  apt  to  be  given  to  one  who 
has  turned  his  half  century. 

When  all  this  is  considered,  it  will  be 
seen  that  he  who  aspires  in  boyhood  to 
episcopal  honours  in  the  future  is  certainly 
indulging  himself  in  a  very  long  look  ahead. 
Distant  as  such  a  prospect  must  be,  it  never- 
theless was  the  one  upon  which  Issachar 
Gadd  saw  fit  to  fix  his  gaze  at  a  very  early 
period  in  his  career. 

The  tribe  of  Gadd,  to  which  young  Is- 
sachar belonged,  were  veritable  religious 
nomads.  Of  Puritan  stock  originally,  they 
had  cut  loose  a  century  back  from  all 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BISHOP  59 

definite  relations  with  any  church  or  sect, 
and,  always  living  in  the  larger  towns  on 
the  Atlantic  seaboard,  they  had  been  able 
to  obtain  a  considerable  variety  of  religious 
sustenance  in  every  case.  The  father  and 
mother  of  Issachar  were  second  cousins  to 
each  other,  and  showed  the  distinguishing 
family  trait.  Therefore,  if  it  pleased  Issa- 
char's  father  to  attend  a  Baptist  church 
during  June,  a  Universalist  in  July,  and  a 
Sandemanian  in  August,  Issachar's  mother 
was  similarly  pleased. 

"  There's  good  in  'em  all,  and  we  might 
as  well  get  all  the  good  that's  goin',"  Issa- 
char's great-grandfather  had  often  remarked, 
and  his  descendants,  one  and  all,  had 
adopted  this  for  their  rule  of  life  in  the 
matter  of  church-going.  They  were  always 
regular  in  their  irregular  attendance,  for 
staying  at  home  on  Sundays  was  no  clause 
in  their  creed ;  but  to  attend  one  particular 
sanctuary  year  in  and  year  out,  or  even  to 
remain  constant  to  one  denomination,  was 
something  that  no  one  of  the  tribe  of  Gadd 


60    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

ever  contemplated  doing.  Issachar's  father 
and  mother  were  New  Yorkers ;  and  though 
they  had  been  five  years  married  at  the  time 
of  his  birth,  they  had  not  then  in  each 
other's  company  quite  swept  through  the 
religious  orbit  of  their  native  city.  Like  all 
of  their  kinsfolk,  they  were  quite  above  and 
beyond  the  acknowledgment  of  preference 
for  one  form  of  faith  above  another.  Protes- 
tant, Catholic,  Mohammedan,  Buddhist, — 
they  cared  nothing  for  names  like  these,  and 
would  have  entered  a  mosque  or  a  Metho- 
dist meeting  with  equal  readiness.  Issachar 
was  their  only  child,  and  as  soon  as  it  was 
practicable,  or  by  the  time  he  was  three 
years  old,  he  was  taken  by  his  parents  on 
their  religious  rounds,  and  behaved  himself 
as  well  as  most  children  at  an  early  age 
when  church  decorum  is  pressed  upon  them 
as  a  disagreeable  duty. 

The  Gadds  were  at  this  time  revolving 
in  a  small  circle  of  United  Presbyterian 
churches;  and  young  Issachar,  finding  the 
mode  of  worship  practised  here  very  little 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BISHOP  6 1 

to  his  taste,  was  moved  to  protest  audibly, 
and  for  this  was  on  two  occasions  removed 
by  his  mother  with  ignominious  haste.  It 
so  happened  that  when  the  United  Presby- 
terians had  been  disposed  of  by  the  Gadds 
they  decided  to  attend  a  series  of  Episcopal 
churches ;  and  in  the  very  first  of  these 
which  they  entered,  the  bishop  of  the  dio- 
cese was  holding  a  confirmation. 

Young  Issachar,  mounted  upon  a  hassock 
between  his  parents,  viewed  the  novel  cere- 
mony with  quiet  approval,  and  the  next 
afternoon  was  discovered  by  his  mother  and 
one  of  her  friends  in  the  act  of  standing 
before  his  family  of  dolls,  ranged  in  one 
long  row,  and  laying  his  pudgy  hands  upon 
their  heads  as  he  had  seen  the  bishop  place 
his  upon  the  heads  of  the  confirmation  class 
the  day  before. 

"  Well,  of  all  things !  "  cried  his  mother. 

"  I  should  say  as  much !  "  echoed  the  vis- 
itor. Indeed,  she  said  more,  for  she  added, 
impressively :  "  That  child  will  be  a  bishop, 
Mrs.  Gadd,  as  sure  as  you  are  born." 


62    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

Most  parents  have  at  one  time  or  another 
beheld  their  offspring  "  playing  church,"  and 
have  not  deemed  the  action  peculiarly  sig- 
nificant; but  Mrs.  Gadd  was  much  struck 
by  her  friend's  prophecy,  and,  when  the 
small  Issachar  temporarily  suspended  the 
confirmation  rite  in  order  to  exclaim,  joy- 
fully, "  Yes,  I'll  be  a  bissup,"  she  considered 
the  child's  destiny  to  be  sealed  from  that 
moment.  When  Issachar's  father  returned 
that  evening  the  important  event  of  the  day 
was  related  to  him,  and  a  family  council 
held  forthwith.  Destiny,  the  Gadds  com- 
prehended, was  not  to  be  eluded,  and 
their  plain  duty  was  to  make  her  path 
as  straight  as  possible. 

"Of  course,"  said  Issachar's  father,  "we 
can't  go  and  be  Episcopals  ourselves.  We've 
got  to  keep  our  minds  free  from  prejudices. 
But  it's  different  about  Issachar.  We  must 
send  him  to  that  Episcopal  kindergarten  in 
the  next  street,  and  when  he  is  older  he  can 
go  to  St.  Paul's  at  Concord.  After  that 
he  can  go  to  Trinity  College  and  then  to 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BISHOP  63 

the  divinity  school  at  Middletown,  and  when 
he's  done  with  that  they  may  make  a  bishop 
of  him  as  soon  as  they  damn  please,"  con- 
cluded the  paternal  Gadd,  with  enthusiasm, 
and  speaking  with  the  vigour  that  he  was 
wont  to  allow  himself  on  important  occa- 
sions. 

"  Oh,  hush,  Robert ! "  interposed  Issa- 
char's  mother.  "  A  bishop's  father  ought 
not  to  swear.  And  besides,  how  do  we 
know  that  Issachar  is  going  to  be  an  Epis- 
copal bishop  ?  You  know  there's  Methodist 
bishops  and  Catholic  bishops,  and  we  heard 
a  Moravian  bishop  once;  and  then  don't 
you  remember  how  last  winter  was  a  year 
we  saw  a  bishop  at  the  Greek  church  ?  And 
I  read  of  an  Armenian  bishop  only  yester- 
day. How  do  we  know  but  Issachar  is 
going  to  be  one  of  these  ?  " 

"  Well,  he  won't  be  a  Methodist  bishop, 
anyhow,"  said  the  future  prelate's  father, 
confidently,  "  because  that  kind  never  do 
any  confirming." 

"  But  those  other  kinds  do,"  replied  his 


64    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

wife,  "and  how  can  we  tell  that  Issachar 
hasn't  got  to  be  one  of  them  ?  " 

Now  the  possibilities  just  evoked  by  Mrs. 
Gadd  necessarily  involved  a  great  amount 
of  thinking  if  they  were  to  be  properly  con- 
sidered. If  destiny  intended  to  make  of 
young  Issachar  a  Latin,  Greek,  Moravian, 
or  Armenian  prelate,  an  entire  reconstruc- 
tion of  the  programme  so  lately  laid  down 
as  the  path  to  the  Anglican  episcopate  must 
follow ;  and  the  paternal  Gadd  had  not  the 
smallest  notion  how  Latin,  Greek,  Moravian 
or  Armenian  mitres  were  to  be  obtained. 
Now,  surely,  if  he  were  about  to  smooth  the 
path  of  destiny  as  well  as  he  knew  how, 
destiny  ought  to  meet  his  efforts  half  way, 
and  not  be  too  strenuous  in  small  matters. 
This  was  the  substance,  if  not  the  exact 
form,  of  his  rapid  cogitations  with  himself ; 
and  he  was  presently  able  to  say  with  the 
ring  of  confidence  in  his  voice : 

"  Oh,  pshaw,  Mary !  you  must  see  for 
yourself  that  he  can't  be  one  of  those  fellows. 
He'll  have  to  be  an  Episcopal  bishop,  of 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BISHOP  65 

course.  Why,  it's  as  plain  as  anything  can 
be  in  this  world." 

"  Well,  if  you  feel  so  sure  about  it  as  all 
that,  Robert,"  said  Issachar's  mother,  "  then 
it's  quite  right,  of  course." 

Destiny  having  thus  been,  as  it  were, 
gently  taken  by  the  shoulders  and  headed 
in  the  proper  direction,  young  Issachar  Gadd 
set  forth  on  his  progress  to  an  episcopal 
throne.  He  was  despatched  the  very  next 
morning  to  the  Episcopal  kindergarten,  and 
in.  the  charge  of  one  of  its  teachers  he  was 
taken  on  Sundays  to  an  Episcopal  church, 
while  his  parents,  in  the  laudable  endeavour 
to  keep  their  minds  free  from  prejudices, 
continued  on  their  denominational  rounds. 
A  few  years  went  by,  and  then  young  Issa- 
char was  sent  to  St.  Paul's,  where  he  re- 
mained till  he  was  eighteen,  and  ready  to 
enter  college.  As  he  emerged  from  boy- 
hood he  ceased  speaking  to  his  companions 
about  his  intention  to  reach  the  episcopate 
before  he  died,  though  he  had  chattered 
much  about  it  when  he  first  went  to  Con- 


66    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

cord,  —  but  this  was  not  because  his  inten- 
tion had  at  all  weakened.  All  his  hopes 
were  turned  toward  the  goal  of  the  episco- 
pate, and  poor  enough  seemed  all  other 
stations  in  life  compared  to  this.  The  end 
of  his  four  years  at  Trinity  College  found 
him  of  this  opinion  still.  From  the  window 
of  his  college  room  in  Northam  Towers  he 
had  gazed  daily  upon  the  bronze  statue  of 
Bishop  Brownell  on  the  college  campus,  and 
had  secretly  hoped  that  future  years  might 
see  the  statue  of  Bishop  Issachar  Gadd 
similarly  adorning  the  grounds  of  his  be- 
loved college.  Young  Issachar's  taste  in 
art  was  crude,  and  neither  the  extraordinary 
stiffness  of  the  statue's  pose  nor  its  Ethio- 
pian blackness  at  all  interfered  with  his 
admiring  envy  of  the  lot  of  the  departed 
Connecticut  prelate.  He  could  have  wished 
his  own  statue  thus  to  stand  with  extended 
arm  so  long  as  bronze  should  endure. 

He  was  twenty-two  when  his  college 
course  was  ended,  and  in  the  following 
autumn  he  entered  the  divinity  school  at 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BISHOP  67 

Middletown,  as  the  paternal  Gadd  had 
decided  a  score  of  years  previous.  In  the 
meantime  Mrs.  Gadd  had  died,  in  full  con- 
fidence that  her  son  would  fulfil  his  destiny ; 
and  her  husband,  equally  confident  that 
Issachar  would  one  day  wear  the  mitre, 
still  continued  his  peculiar  church-going 
habits,  though  he  permitted  himself  to 
attend  Episcopal  churches  oftenest  on  ac- 
count of  his  son's  relations  to  that  faith. 
Issachar's  elevation  had  seemed  very  far 
away  while  the  boy  was  in  the  kindergarten 
or  at  Saint  Paul's,  but  now  that  his  theologi- 
cal career  was  fairly  begun,  it  appeared  very 
near,  by  contrast,  to  the  ambitious  father. 

Issachar  Gadd  was  not  a  brilliant  youth, 
which  perhaps  was  well  for  the  fulfilment 
of  his  hopes ;  but  he  had  what  are  termed 
the  solid  qualities.  He  was  amiable,  sober- 
minded,  and  even-tempered.  Originality  he 
did  not  possess,  and  he  preferred  to  walk 
always  in  well-beaten  paths.  His  church- 
manship  was  not  of  an  aggressive  type,  and 
he  could  not  be  definitely  classed  as  either 


68    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

high  or  low ;  but  as  he  grew  older  he  would 
be  characterised  as  an  "eminently  safe" 
clergyman,  so  those  who  knew  him  prophe- 
sied. Had  it  not  been  for  what  destiny  had 
chosen  him  to  become,  he  might  have  been 
considered  as  a  young  man  of  commonplace 
abilities  and  rather  grave  tastes,  not  wholly 
unspiritual,  to  be  sure,  but  not  markedly 
spiritual,  either.  And  indeed  that  is  just 
the  estimate  that  his  instructors  and  com- 
panions at  the  divinity  school  did  form  of 
him.  But  then  the  young  man's  destiny  was 
veiled  to  their  eyes,  as  indeed  it  was  to  all 
but  those  of  Issachar  and  his  father;  for 
Mrs.  Gadd's  visitor  who  had  first  uttered 
the  prophecy  concerning  him  had  died 
while  the  prospective  prelate  was  still  at 
the  kindergarten. 

When  he  reached  the  age  of  twenty-six 
Issachar's  studies  in  divinity  at  Middletown 
were  completed  and  he  had  taken  deacon's 
orders.  Eighteen  months  later  he  entered 
the  priesthood,  and  now  the  elder  Gadd 
began  to  grow  impatient. 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BISHOP  69 

"  How  long  before  they  can  make  a  bishop 
of  you  ? "  he  inquired  of  his  son  on  one 
occasion. 

"Well,"  said  the  Reverend  Issachar,  "a 
man  must  be  over  thirty  before  he  can  be 
consecrated.  I  am  not  yet  twenty-eight, 
and,  besides,  a  man  ought  to  have  a  good 
deal  of  clerical  experience  before  he  is  fit 
to  be  a  bishop." 

"  That's  damned  nonsense  !  "  exclaimed 
his  father  with  a  burst  of  old-time  vigour; 
and  then,  remembering  that  he  was  the 
father  of  a  clergyman  who  would  some 
day  be  much  more  than  a  mere  clergyman, 
he  added,  hurriedly :  "  I  mean,  Issachar,  you 
know,  if  you  are  to  be  a  bishop  you  might 
as  well  be  one  first  as  last." 

The  young  priest  smiled  gravely  as  he 
replied :  "  You  are  in  too  great  a  hurry  for 
my  advancement,  father.  There  are  no 
vacant  bishoprics  at  present,  so  -even  if  I 
were  old  enough  for  consecration  there 
would  be  no  chance  for  me  now." 

At  this  the  elder    Gadd   looked   exceed- 


70     THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

ingly  disconsolate,  but  brightened  up  as  a 
thought  occurred  to  him. 

"  Well,  when  an  old  bishop  dies  they 
have  to  put  some  one  in  his  place,  don't 
they?" 

"  To  be  sure." 

"  Then  if  one  dies  by  the  time  you 
are  thirty  you  can  get  put  in  his  place. 
That's  simple  enough,  I  am  sure." 

The  Reverend  Issachar  suffered  his  father 
to  depart  in  this  hopeful  frame  of  mind ;  but, 
on  a  subsequent  occasion,  explained  to  him 
how  comparatively  seldom  a  vacancy  oc- 
curred in  the  House  of  Bishops,  and  that 
when  a  diocese  needed  a  bishop  the  members 
of  its  convention  elected  one  of  several  well- 
known  clergymen  whose  names  were  brought 
before  them,  and  that  this  election  then  had 
to  be  ratified  by  the  standing  committees  of 
two-thirds  of  the  dioceses  in  the  American 
episcopate  before  the  bishop-elect  could  be 
consecrated. 

Now  as  the  elder  Gadd  had  during  all 
these  years  entertained  very  rudimentary 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BISHOP  7  I 

ideas  as  to  the  making  of  bishops,  he  had 
ignorantly  supposed  his  son's  elevation  to 
the  episcopate  might  very  soon  follow  the 
adoption  of  the  clerical  profession.  Al- 
though he  did  not  waver  in  his  faith  in 
the  leadings  of  destiny,  Issachar's  summary 
of  the  further  steps  to  be  taken  in  order  to 
reach  the  episcopal  throne  seemed  to  re- 
move his  son's  elevation  to  that  same  throne 
to  a  very  remote  period  indeed.  He  grew 
somewhat  melancholy  over  the  postpone- 
ment of  his  hopes,  began  to  wonder  if  he 
should  see  them  realised,  and  presently, 
waxing  indignant  at  the  delay  which  was 
likely  to  ensue,  resolved  to  attend  the 
Episcopal  church  no  more  in  the  course  of 
his  transit  through  the  ecclesiastical  zodiac 
till  the  Reverend  Issachar  should  become 
the  Right  Reverend. 

Years  went  by,  and  the  eminent  merits  of 
the  Reverend  Issachar  had  not  been  appro- 
priately recognised  by  the  Church  when  he 
had  been  canonically  eligible  for  such  recog- 
nition for  a  full  lustrum.  Presently  his 


72      THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

fortieth  birthday  dawned,  and  he  was  only 
the  Reverend  Issachar  yet. 

"  I  shall  never  live  to  see  them  make  a 
bishop  of  you,  damn  'em !  "  exclaimed  Robert 
Gadd,  sorrowfully,  on  this  anniversary. 

The  Reverend  Issachar  forbore  to  rebuke 
this  intemperate  speech,  and  endeavoured  to 
console  his  father;  but  without  much  suc- 
cess, for  the  elder  Gadd,  now  a  man  of 
nearly  seventy,  had  quite  lost  heart.  His 
son,  however,  yet  trusted  in  his  star,  so  to 
speak,  and  performed  his  clerical  duties  in 
a  most  exemplary  fashion.  He  had  now 
been  for  ten  years  the  rector  of  a  flourishing 
parish  in  the  diocese  of  Skowhegan,  and  was 
a  delegate  from  it  to  the  general  convention. 
Once  or  twice  the  arrow  of  church  pre- 
ferment had  seemed  to  be  aimed  in  his 
direction,  but  it  had  on  each  occasion 
glanced  aside.  An  assistant  bishop  for 
the  diocese  had  been  chosen  from  among 
the  clergy  of  his  own  town,  and  another 
clergyman  of  the  neighbourhood  had  been 
elected  bishop  of  a  Western  diocese.  If  his 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BISHOP  73 

life  had  depended  upon  it,  the  Reverend 
Issachar  could  not  have  given  a  good  and 
sufficient  reason  why  either  of  these  men 
had  been  selected  for  promotion  in  prefer- 
ence to  himself.  To  do  him  amplest  justice, 
he  did  not  in  the  least  intend  to  be  a  digni- 
fied idler  when  he  should  have  reached  the 
episcopal  chair.  On  the  contrary,  he  knew 
that  as  a  bishop  his  life  would  be  even  harder 
than  as  the  busy  rector  of  a  large  parish ;  but 
he  was  quite  willing  to  work  harder  if  only 
he  might  fill  that  station  in  life  for  which 
destiny  had  intended  him. 

Another  full  decade  went  by,  and  destiny 
appeared  to  have  forgotten  her  original  pur- 
pose concerning  the  Reverend  Issachar. 
Meanwhile  the  scope  of  the  American 
episcopate  had  become  at  least  a  third 
larger  by  the  addition  of  new  sees,  while 
the  number  of  bishops  who  had  died  and 
been  succeeded  by  others  was  not  small. 
The  Reverend  Issachar  was  still  confident, 
but  it  was  a  much  chastened  confidence  that 
he  now  possessed.  Destiny,  he  had  discov- 


74      THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

ered,  did  not  mean  to  be  hurried  with  refer- 
ence to  his  particular  case.  He  was  one 
day  reading  over  to  himself  the  epistle  in 
the  office  for  the  consecration  of  bishops 
and  commenting  upon  its  provisions.  How 
well  he  knew  them  all ! 

"  A  bishop  must  be  blameless,  the  hus- 
band of  one  wife,  vigilant,  sober,  of  good 
behaviour,  given  to  hospitality,  apt  to  teach ; 
not  given  to  wine,  no  striker,  not  greedy  of 
filthy  lucre;  but  patient,  not  a  brawler,  not 
covetous,"  —  and  so  on. 

Certainly  he  was  no  brawler,  and  he  was 
not  covetous,  unless  it  was  of  a  bishop's 
mitre,  and  the  apostle  himself  had  declared 
that  it  was  good  to  desire  a  bishop's  office. 
So  far  from  being  given  to  wine,  he  was  a 
teetotaler;  and  vigilant  in  the  performance 
of  his  duty  he  could  safely  say  that  he  was. 
He  was  not  blameless,  —  no  man  might  say 
that  of  himself,  —  but  he  was  as  steadfast  in 
the  path  of  duty  as  he  knew  how  to  be,  he 
told  himself. 

"  The  husband  of  one  wife,"  he  next  re- 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BISHOP  75 

peated  to  himself,  slowly  ;  and  then,  as  a  new 
thought  came  to  him,  the  prayer-book  fell 
from  his  hand.  He  had  always  taken  the 
apostle  to  mean  that  a  bishop  should  have 
but  one  wife  at  a  time,  —  though  why  bishops 
only  and  not  the  inferior  clergy  also  should  be 
thus  warned  against  bigamy  had  never  been 
quite  clear  to  him.  Now  it  had  suddenly 
dawned  upon  him  that  the  apostle  might  also 
have  intended  to  suggest  the  desirability  of  a 
bishop's  being  married. 

The  Reverend  Issachar  had  remained  un- 
married all  these  years,  and  had  never  con- 
templated matrimony  for  himself  as  even  a 
distant  possibility.  Perhaps  it  would  be  well 
to  consider  the  matter,  he  now  thought ;  and 
if  he  were  to  marry,  he  mused,  such  an  event 
ought  to  precede  his  elevation  to  the  bench 
of  bishops.  Although  a  mere  clergyman 
might  permit  himself  the  frivolousness  of 
falling  in  love,  wooing,  and  consequent 
marrying,  it  would  never  do  for  a  bishop 
to  engage  in  such  a  sequence.  It  would 
come  hard  upon  him  as  a  middle-aged 


76    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

rector  to  go  a-courting,  but  to  do  such  a 
thing  as  a  bishop  would  be  utterly  out  of 
the  question.  A  minister's  wooing  might  be 
barely  permissible,  but  a  bishop's  wooing 
would  be  simply  scandalous.  As  it  was, 
he  hardly  knew  how  to  proceed  in  such 
a  matter  in  a  manner  comporting  with 
middle-aged  clerical  decorum ;  but,  if  to 
this  decorum  were  added  that  which  doth 
perpetually  hedge  about  the  wearer  of  lawn 
sleeves,  the  task  would  be  impossible.  A 
bishop  kneeling  at  a  woman's  feet,  actually 
or  figuratively,  or  writing  love-letters,  even, 
ought  to  be  a  human  impossibility.  A 
vague  thought  crossed  his  mind  at  this 
juncture  that,  had  destiny  intended  him 
for  the  Roman  episcopate,  Saint  Paul's 
advice  as  to  being  the  husband  of  one  wife 
would  have  gone  for  nothing ;  but  this  sug- 
gestion he  dismissed  hurriedly  and  once 
more  turned  to  consider  his  actual  position. 
He  must  marry,  and  he  must  marry  likewise 
before  ^his  assumption  of  the  mitre  should 
render  such  a  step  impossible.  Then  he 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BISHOP  77 

fell  into  so  deep  a  reverie  that  his  house- 
keeper was  obliged  to  speak  twice  before 
she  could  make  him  comprehend  that  lunch- 
eon was  served. 

The  parish  had  long  since  taken  it  for 
granted  that  its  rector  would  never  marry ; 
and  when,  about  a  year  after  the  Reverend 
Issachar's  sudden  enlightenment  as  to  Saint 
Paul's  meaning  in  regard  to  the  marriage 
of  bishops,  its  rector's  marriage  was  an- 
nounced as  having  taken  place  during 
his  summer  holiday  in  a  distant  city,  its 
surprise  may  be  imagined.  The  event  had 
come  about  naturally  enough.  The  Rever- 
end Issachar  had  bethought  him  of  a  lady 
with  whom  he  had  had  some  acquaintance 
while  he  was  studying  divinity  at  Middle- 
town,  and  who,  in  the  time  intervening,  had 
married  and  subsequently  become  a  widow. 
The  two  had  known  something  of  each 
other's  lives  meanwhile  ;  and  it  was  to  this 
old  acquaintance  that  the  Reverend  Issachar 
now  turned  in  his  perplexity.  He  was  in 
middle  life  much  better  looking  than  in 


78    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

youth,  and  some  persons  might  have  gone 
so  far  as  to  call  him  handsome.  At  any 
rate  he  was  a  very  presentable,  dignified 
kind  of  person;  and  when  he  made  known 
to  his  old  acquaintance,  Mrs.  Boardman,  his 
desire  to  make  her  Mrs.  Gadd,  she  turned  a 
very  favourable  ear  to  his  request.  The  en- 
gagement was  not  a  very  long  one,  and  the 
Reverend  Issachar  could  not  have  been 
called  an  ardent  lover,  exactly;  but,  if  he 
had  not  fallen  in  love  with  Mrs.  Boardman, 
he  sincerely  admired  her  and  felt  she 
would  make  him  a  good  wife.  And  what 
more  would  you  have  ?  We  are  not  all  of 
us  sentimentalists.  Mrs.  Boardman  was  ap- 
parently satisfied.  She  was  not  an  exacting 
person,  and  she  had  plans  of  her  own. 

When  the  Reverend  Issachar  returned 
home,  bringing  Mrs.  Gadd  with  him,  the 
parish,  finding  the  rector's  wife  to  be  a 
stout,  personable  dame,  of  very  suitable  age, 
was  disposed  to  think  he  had  done  wisely ; 
though  in  some  quarters  it  was  urged  that 
if  he  needs  must  marry  he  need  not  have 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BISHOP  79 

gone  nearly  so  far  afield.  The  rector's  wife 
was  a  stirring,  ambitious  person,  by  no  means 
disposed  to  sit  with  hands  folded  and  await 
the  coming  of  events;  and  so,  after  being 
elected  to  the  headship  of  a  half  dozen  or 
more  feminine  associations  in  the  parish, 
she  began  to  stir  things  up  on  her  husband's 
behalf. 

"  Issachar,"  she  observed  at  the  breakfast- 
table  one  morning,  "  there's  no  good  reason 
why  you  should  not  be  a  bishop,  —  none  in 
the  world." 

The  rector  fully  agreed  with  his  wife  on 
this  point,  but  felt  it  incumbent  upon  him  to 
utter  a  half  inaudible  protest. 

"  Nonsense ! "  said  Mrs.  Gadd,  with  much 
vigour.  "  You  are  just  the  kind  of  man  to 
fill  a  bishop's  throne.  To  be  sure,  you  are 
not  brilliant,  but  that's  entirely  to  your  ad- 
vantage so  far  as  securing  a  bishopric  is 
concerned.  You  are  a  moderate  man  who 
wouldn't  make  enemies,  and  that's  the  ma- 
terial a  bishop  should  be  made  of.  And 
you  are  very  good-looking "  (another  half 


8o    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

inaudible  protest  from  the  rector),  "  and  that 
ought  to  help  you.  You  would  be  in  your 
true  place  at  the  head  of  a  diocese,  and  I 
mean  to  see  that  you  get  there,  Issachar," 
concluded  Mrs.  Gadd,  with  much  decision 
in  her  tone. 

The  Reverend  Issachar  smiled  gravely, 
but  did  not  reply.  The  issue  of  events 
seemed  certain  enough  now  that  destiny 
and  Mrs.  Gadd  had  joined  their  forces  in 
his  behalf.  Destiny  had  been  dilatory 
hitherto,  but  his  experience  of  Mrs.  Gadd 
up  to  the  present  had  shown  him  most 
conclusively  that  she  was  not  at  all  a  dila- 
tory female. 

Now  Mrs.  Gadd,  whose  first  husband 
had  been  senior  warden  of  a  large  city 
church,  had  a  wide  acquaintance  among 
the  clergy,  especially  in  the  diocese  of 
Lancaster  where  she  had  lived  as  Mrs. 
Boardman;  and,  as  it  chanced,  the  bishop 
of  that  diocese  died  not  far  from  this  time 
and  but  a  month  or  two  before  the  meeting 
of  the  diocesan  convention.  Keeping  this 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BISHOP  8 1 

event  uppermost  in  her  mind,  she  made  it 
convenient  to  visit  her  former  home;  and, 
without  directly  mentioning  her  husband's 
name  in  connection  with  the  vacant  bishop- 
ric, did  manage  to  convey  in  many  quarters 
a  very  distinct  impression  of  the  sterling  vir- 
tues of  her  second  husband,  the  Reverend 
Issachar  Gadd. 

"  Your  husband  has  a  very  flourishing 
parish,  I  hear,  Mrs.  Gadd,"  the  secretary  of 
the  convention  remarked  to  her  on  one 
occasion  when  calling  upon  her. 

"Yes,  it  is  a  large  parish,  indeed,"  was 
the  reply,  "  and  very  devoted  he  is  to  it ; 
and  the  people,  too,  are  very  fond  of  him. 
You  see  he  has  been  rector  there  over 
twenty  years,  and  he  has  the  most  intimate 
knowledge  of  individual  needs.  Then  it 
takes  remarkable  executive  abilities  to  man- 
age a  large  parish  successfully,  you  know, 
Mr.  Leavenworth ;  and,  even  if  every  one  did 
not  tell  me  so,  I  could  see  for  myself  how 
admirably  matters  are  carried  on  in  his 
parish.  But  you  must  tell  me  about  Mrs. 


82    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

Leavenworth  and  the  children,  whom  I  shall 
hope  to  see  soon  "  —  and  thus  the  wife  of  the 
Reverend  Issachar  easily  led  the  conversa- 
tion into  other  channels. 

She  was  always  willing  to  talk  of  her 
husband  and  his  happy  united  parish,  but 
she  never  introduced  these  topics  into  the 
conversation  and  never  prolonged  their 
discussion  beyond  the  patience  of  her 
listeners.  She  had  not  been  a  prominent 
figure  in  society  for  a  score  of  years  without 
having  her  perceptions  rendered  properly 
acute.  She  had  been  a  popular  woman  in 
her  former  home,  and  was  now  made  much 
of  by  her  friends  on  the  occasion  of  her  first 
visit  to  them  since  her  marriage ;  and,  meet- 
ing at  receptions  and  dinners  many  influen- 
tial members  of  the  convention,  clerical  and 
lay,  her  husband  and  his  affairs  were  very 
naturally  alluded  to  by  those  who  spoke  with 
her. 

"  I  hoped  we  should  have  seen  your  hus- 
band also  at  this  time,  Mrs.  Gadd,"  the  regis- 
trar of  the  diocese  observed  one  day  as  he 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BISHOP  83 

took  her  in  to  dinner  at  the  house  of  the 
friend  with  whom  she  was  then  staying. 

"  Well,  you  know,  Mr.  Harwood,  he  finds 
it  very  difficult  to  get  away  from  his  parish, 
even  for  a  short  time." 

"  It  is  a  large  parish,  then,  I  conclude." 

"  Oh  yes,  very,  and  he  is  very  faithful  to 
his  people  and  they  are  much  attached  to 
him.  Some  of  his  people  have  told  me  that 
in  all  the  years  he  has  been  there  —  over 
twenty  now  —  there  has  never  been  the 
shadow  of  a  quarrel  between  persons  of 
opposite  views;  and  yet  he  has  both  high 
and  low  churchmen  in  his  parish,  and  even 
some  broad  churchmen,  also." 

Mrs.  Gadd's  neighbour  on  the  left  as  they 
sat  at  dinner  had  some  polite  questions  to 
ask  about  the  Reverend  Issachar,  adding 
as  he  did  so : 

"  I  overheard  part  of  what  you  were  saying 
to  Mr.  Harwood  about  your  husband's  parish. 
Mr.  Gadd  must  have  great  tact,  I  think,  to 
be  able  to  harmonise  such  discordant  ele- 
ments. It  isn't  every  clergyman  who  is 


84    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

gifted  in  that  direction,  and  I  have  heard  it 
whispered  that  bishops  are  sometimes  lack- 
ing in  that  particular  —  "  and  as  he  turned 
with  a  smile  to  answer  some  remark  of  the 
hostess  at  that  moment  Mr.  Harwood  took 
up  the  theme. 

"  I  almost  wonder  that  other  parishes  have 
not  tried  to  tempt  your  husband  away  from 
his  present  charge,  Mrs.  Gadd." 

"  Oh,  they  have,  numberless  times"  (a  wifely 
exaggeration  of  the  facts,  for  the  Reverend 
Issachar  had  had  but  two  calls  to  other  fields), 
"  but  he  has  preferred  to  remain  where  he  is, 
though  I  cannot  help  the  feeling  that  change 
would  do  him  good  and  that  his  abilities 
would  abundantly  fit  him  for  a  wider  sphere 
of  activity." 

Just  how  the  movement  started  no  one 
could  have  told,  but  it  was  not  very  long 
before  the  wish  that  Mrs.  Gadd  might  be 
with  her  old  friends  permanently  had  merged 
into  the  question, "  Now  can't  we  get  her  back 
again  ?  "  and  at  this  juncture  the  name  of  the 
Reverend  Issachar  began  to  be  mentioned 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BISHOP  85 

as  that  of  a  candidate  for  the  vacant  throne. 
The  diocese  of  Lancaster  was  one  which 
the  late  episcopal  head  had  not  ruled  over 
well,  for  the  two  great  parties  in  the  Church 
had  been  pretty  evenly  represented  within 
it,  and  the  departed  prelate,  whose  proclivi- 
ties were  strongly  low  church,  had  therefore 
been  cordially  disliked  by  the  high  church- 
men. The  latter  were  fully  determined  that 
no  pronounced  low  churchman  should  suc- 
ceed the  late  incumbent,  and  their  oppo- 
nents were  equally  resolved  that  no  advanced 
churchman  should  do  so,  either ;  and  unless 
the  two  parties  could  unite  on  some  mod- 
erate candidate  for  the  office  a  long  wrangle 
was  likely  to  result.  Thus  it  happened  that 
the  Reverend  Issachar's  record  began  to  be 
looked  into  after  his  wife's  remarks  in  refer- 
ence to  him  had  stimulated  interest  in  that 
quarter,  and  so  far  as  could  be  seen  he  had 
never  ranged  himself  on  either  side  in  the 
discussion  between  high  and  low,  while 
no  one  could  possibly  call  him  latitudina- 
rian,  —  an  attitude  abhorrent  to  both  par- 


86    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

ties.  "  He  would  be  a  very  safe  man  for 
us,"  was  the  general  conclusion  regarding 
him. 

Matters  had  reached  this  hopeful  stage 
when  the  diocesan  convention  assembled, 
and  when  other  business  matters  had  been 
disposed  of  the  names  of  several  candidates 
for  the  office  of  bishop  of  the  diocese  were 
placed  before  it,  among  them  that  of  the  Rev- 
erend Issachar  Gadd,  presbyter  of  the  diocese 
of  Skowhegan.  The  balloting  did  not  take 
long,  and,  owing  to  the  anxiety  of  each  party 
to  secure  a  bishop  who  would  not  be  the 
mouthpiece  of  the  other,  the  result  was  that 
the  name  of  the  Skowhegan  presbyter,  like 
Abou-Ben-Adhem's,  led  all  the  rest.  There 
was  little  doubt  in  the  minds  of  those  who  had 
voted  for  the  Reverend  Issachar  but  that 
their  choice  would  be  ratified  by  the  stand- 
ing committees  of  other  dioceses,  and  as  a 
matter  of  fact  such  ratification  followed 
speedily.  Great  things  were  not  expected 
of  the  Bishop-elect  of  Lancaster,  but  every- 
body was  satisfied.  The  wife  of  the  bishop- 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BISHOP  87 

elect  was  more  than  satisfied,  indeed,  she  was 
quietly  exultant;  and  as  for  the  Reverend 
Issachar,  he  felt  that  destiny,  though  she 
had  hitherto  moved  in  a  mysterious  way, 
had  now,  with  the  cooperation  of  Mrs. 
Gadd,  made  up  her  mind  to  do  the  hand- 
some thing  by  him,  and  he  was  properly 
grateful  to  both  powers. 

A  few  months  later  his  consecration  took 
place,  the  day  selected  being  the  fiftieth 
anniversary  of  the  prophecy  in  relation  to 
this  same  event.  It  had  been  a  long  run- 
ning, but  the  goal  was  won  at  last.  The 
father  of  the  new  bishop,  now  in  his  eight- 
ieth year,  was  present  at  the  fulfilment  of 
the  prophecy,  in  what  might  be  called  a  nunc 
dimittis  state  of  mind.  From  this  time 
onward  he  attended  only  the  Episcopal 
church,  feeling  that  he  was  too  old  now 
to  acquire  denominational  prejudices  by  so 
doing,  and  was  never  so  happy  as  when  he 
beheld  the  Right  Reverend  Issachar  holding 
a  confirmation.  But  he  had  lost  faith  in 
destiny  long  years  before,  and  did  not  believe 


88    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

that  destiny  had  helped  on  the  great  event 
in  the  least. 

Mrs.  Gadd  was  large-minded.  She  never 
at  any  time  in  the  presence  of  her  right  rev- 
erend consort  reverted  to  the  fact  that  she 
had  obliged  his  destiny  to  exchange  an 
andante  for  an  allegro  movement  toward 
the  goal  aimed  at;  but  nevertheless  that 
was  just  what  she  had  accomplished,  and 
she  knew  it,  and  in  secret  took  no  little  pride 
in  the  fact,  as  well  she  might.  If  this  were 
her  state  of  mind  after  her  husband  had 
appeared  in  lawn  sleeves,  and,  figuratively 
speaking,  had  felt  the  mitre  on  his  brows, 
what  must  have  been  the  inward  felicity  of 
that  patient  good  man  himself  when  for  the 
first  time  he  was  able  to  affix  his  signature 
to  his  official  communications  in  correct  ca- 
nonical fashion,  — 

"  Issachar,  Lancaster  "  ? 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE 
BEACH 


WHY  THE  BISHOP   LEFT   RYE 
BEACH 

THE  Bishop  of  Superior  was  spending 
his  fourth  summer  at  Rye.  He  said 
that  its  climate  agreed  with  him,  and  that  he 
never  felt  the  hot  weather  so  little  as  when 
there.  But  they  made  much  of  the  bishop 
at  Rye,  and  perhaps  that  influenced  slightly 
the  good  man's  opinion  of  the  climate,  for 
even  a  bishop  cannot  always  remain  insen- 
sible to  the  voice  of  the  charmer. 

I  have  said  that  they  made  much  of  the 
bishop  at  Rye,  but  that  phrase  is  to  be 
understood  in  a  highly  figurative  sense,  for 
the  diocesan  of  Superior  was  a  small  man, 
and  not  even  stretching  upon  the  rack  could 
have  made  much  of  him.  He  might  magnify 
his  office,  and  truth  compels  me  to  say  that 
91 


92      THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

he  did  so,  in  the  language  of  the  profane, 
for  all  that  it  was  worth,  but  he  could  not 
magnify  himself.  His  stature,  or  his  want 
of  it  rather,  was  a  source  of  great  disquiet 
to  him.  Although  as  a  Biblical  scholar  he 
was  presumably  aware  that  he  could  not  by 
taking  thought  add  one  cubit  to  his  stature, 
he  thought  a  great  deal  about  the  matter  all 
the  same.  His  cross,  for  such  this  had  come 
to  seem  to  him,  was  comparatively  easy  to 
bear  when  he  was  not  in  the  company  of 
his  brethren  of  the  episcopate,  but  at  the 
triennial  conventions  and  wherever  else  the 
bishops  might  be  gathered  together,  the  fact 
of  his  physical  insignificance  bore  heavily 
upon  him.  On  one  occasion  he  returned 
from  a  Church  Congress  in  such  an  irritable 
frame  of  mind  that  his  wife  mildly  remon- 
strated. The  bishop  turned  upon  her  at  once. 
"  My  dear,"  he  said,  almost  fiercely,  "  you 
know  nothing  at  all  about  it.  If  you  had 
sat  as  I  have  done  for  three  mortal  hours 
with  the  Bishop  of  Silverado  on  one  side 
and  the  Bishop  of  Quinnecticut  on  the 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH  93 

other,  the  two  men  towering  above  your 
head  like  the  spires  of  Cologne  Cathedral, 
you  would  be  as  full  of  indignation  as  I  am 
at  the  infernal  idiots  who  planned  to  make 
you  ridiculous  by  assigning  you  to  such  a 
position.  I  haven't  one  bit  of  doubt  but  that 
those  two  were  smiling  over  my  head  at 
the  figure  I  must  have  cut,"  continued  the 
aggrieved  bishop.  "  Why  I  was  ever  nomi- 
nated for  the  diocese  of  Superior,  the  largest 
bishopric  in  the  whole  American  Church, 
unless  it  was  to  emphasise  the  contrast 
between  the  size  of  the  diocese  and  the  want 
of  size  of  its  bishop,  I  am  sure  I  don't  know. 
I  should  have  been  much  better  adapted  to 
the  diocese  of  Eleware." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  have  been,"  answered 
his  wife,  calmly,  "but  you  know  that  that 
diocese  has  not  been  vacant  for  nearly  fifty 
years,  and  had  there  been  a  vacancy  and  had 
you  been  elected  to  fill  it,  you  would  have 
said  that  because  you  were  a  small  man 
people  must  fancy  you  were  only  fit  for  the 
smallest  diocese." 


94     THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

"  Well,  I  have  no  doubt  I  should  have  said 
just  those  words,"  said  the  bishop,  frankly. 
His  wrath  had  subsided,  and  he  could  afford 
to  be  candid,  especially  with  his  wife,  who 
knew  him  so  well  that  no  other  attitude  on 
his  part  could  be  tenable  for  long. 

At  Rye,  however,  the  bishop  was  unique. 
That  place  had  come  to  be  so  generally 
recognised  as  the  summer  diocese,  so  to 
speak,  of  the  Bishop  of  Superior,  that  not 
even  the  bishop  in  whose  spiritual  preserves 
it  was  situated  intruded  his  presence  from 
July  to  October.  For  those  three  months 
the  Bishop  of  Superior  reigned  there  alone. 
True,  he  reigned  alone  in  his  own  dominions 
as  well,  but  a  missionary  diocese  is  a  very 
different  thing  from  a  seaside  resort  in  the 
summer ;  and,  after  enduring  for  nine  months 
of  every  year  all  the  ills  that  a  missionary 
bishop  is  heir  to,  he  felt  himself  entitled  to 
whatever  of  worthy  consolation  was  to  be 
found  at  Rye. 

And  without  question  he  was  popular 
there,  and  whenever  it  was  known  that  he 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH  95 

was  to  preach  at  the  Church  of  St.  Andrew's- 
by-the-Sea,  which  he  did  not  do  every  Sun- 
day by  any  means,  the  pretty  little  building 
was  uncomfortably  crowded.  He  was  a  good 
preacher,  with  rather  broad  church  views, 
and,  apart  from  a  certain  kind  of  vanity 
which  seems  as  unavoidable  an  accessory  of 
the  episcopate  as  the  lawn  sleeves  them- 
selves, was  a  very  agreeable  man  to  meet. 
His  presence  conferred  a  kind  of  distinction 
on  the  hotel  where  he  stayed,  —  a  distinction 
which  could  be  reckoned  in  dollars  and 
cents,  as  the  proprietor  had  discovered. 
People  liked  to  be  able,  when  writing  to 
their  friends,  to  add :  "  The  Bishop  of  Su- 
perior always  spends  his  summers  at  the 
Crichton,  where  we  are.  He  and  his  wife  are 
here  now,  and  sit  at  the  table  next  to  ours." 
Other  people  who  had  been  undecided 
where  to  go  for  the  summer  sometimes, 
after  reading  such  an  item  in  a  friend's 
letter,  were  thereby  helped  on  to  a  decision, 
and  telegraphed  to  Rye  for  rooms  at  the 
Crichton. 


96    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

Regarding  the  success  of  the  Bishop  of 
Superior  in  his  own  diocese,  I  know  but 
little.  It  is  to  be  presumed,  however,  that 
his  experience  did  not  differ  materially  from 
that  of  other  missionary  bishops,  and  that 
it  included  many  discomforts  during  the 
course  of  his  visitations  through  a  thinly 
settled  country,  —  discomforts  which  he  was 
quite  willing  to  forget  for  a  time  whenever 
he  found  himself  feeding  on  the  roses  and 
lying  among  the  lilies  of  Rye.  And  for  this 
he  could  not  reasonably  be  blamed. 

But  at  no  time  of  the  summer  was  the 
life  at  Rye  wildly  gay,  and  the  bishop  could 
smile  upon  the  whole  of  it,  therefore,  with- 
out any  straining  of  the  episcopal  con- 
science. Strolls  along  the  beach  to  Straw's 
Point  northward,  and  along  the  cliff  to  Little 
Boar's  Head  southward,  or  about  the  village ; 
drives  to  Exeter,  Hampton,  Portsmouth,  or 
Newcastle  ;  excursions  to  the  Isles  of  Shoals ; 
tennis ;  an  occasional  german,  —  these  made 
up  the  greater  part  of  it,  and,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  german,  it  included  nothing  in 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH          97 

which  a  bishop  might  not,  with  perfect  pro- 
priety, engage.  He  could  now  and  then  be 
prevailed  upon  to  play  tennis  in  the  morn- 
ing, or  a  few  games  in  the  bowling-alley, 
and  he  frequently  looked  in  at  the  billiard- 
room.  For  these  reasons  he  was  popular 
with  the  young  people,  while  his  ecclesiasti- 
cal dignity,  well  blended  with  a  most  cordial 
style  of  address,  made  him  liked  by  the 
elders. 

Yet  the  episcopal  ruler  of  Superior  never 
for  a  moment  forgot  that  he  was  a  bishop. 
Even  on  the  tennis-court  or  at  the  bowling- 
alley  he  remembered  the  fact,  and  endeav- 
oured (in  default  of  any  special  rubrics  upon 
such  matters),  to  serve  the  balls  as  a  bishop 
should  serve  them,  or  make  a  strike  in  the 
manner  it  became  a  bishop  to  do.  It  was 
not  possible  that  such  firm  convictions  as 
to  the  dignity  of  his  calling  which  the  bishop 
held  could  altogether  escape  the  notice  of 
those  about  him,  but  people  were  very  far 
from  objecting  to  any  magnifying  of  his 
ofHce  in  which  the  Bishop  of  Superior  might 


98    THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

indulge.  Indeed,  the  members  of  his  own 
household  of  faith  would  not  have  been 
satisfied  had  he  appeared  to  forget  or  put 
aside  any  part  of  his  lawful  dignity,  and 
those  of  other  communions  had,  neverthe- 
less, a  certain  reverence  for  the  high  offices 
of  episcopacy,  and  would  not  have  taken 
kindly  to  a  bishop  who  seemed  to  think  no 
more  highly  of  himself  than  if  he  were  an 
ordinary  minister. 

So  the  Bishop  of  Superior,  finding  his 
sway  undisputed  at  Rye,  felt  that  his  lines 
had  fallen  in  pleasant  places.  He  was  quite 
willing  to  unbend  and  be  as  other  men,  so 
far  as  such  unbending  was  consistent  with 
the  episcopal  character,  but  he  was,  neverthe- 
less, properly  pleased  to  have  his  dignity  ac- 
knowledged in  the  course  of  that  unbending. 
After  this  manner  he  had  reigned  for  three 
seasons  at  Rye,  and  after  this  manner  he 
hoped  to  reign  there  for  many  succeeding 
summers.  But  bishops  are  sometimes  thrown 
out  of  their  orbits,  as  are  lesser  stars  in  the 
firmament  ecclesiastical,  and  it  was  during 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH  99 

the  bishop's  fourth  summer  at  the  beach 
that  certain  events  took  place  which  caused 
him  no  little  perturbation  of  spirit. 

The  week  after  his  coming  for  the  fourth 
time,  it  was  rumoured  that  the  Bishop  of 
Cheyenne  was  coming  to  Rye  also,  and 
treading  closely  on  the  heels  of  this  report 
came  the  Bishop  of  Cheyenne  himself.  That 
he  was  a  great  contrast  to  the  courtly  Bishop 
of  Superior  every  one  saw  at  the  first  glance. 
He  was  tall,  with  a  full  beard,  which  left 
little  of  his  face  uncovered,  and  his  clothes, 
as  some  one  suggested,  looked  as  if  they 
had  been  put  on  in  the  teeth  of  a  furious 
gale,  so  negligent  and  haphazard  was  their 
appearance.  Their  cut  was  ecclesiastical,  it 
was  true,  but  their  aspect  was  defiantly 
secular. 

The  reigning  bishop  was  not  overpleased 
at  the  advent  of  his  brother  of  the  episcopal 
bench,  but  nothing  of  this  was  evident  in 
the  cordial  welcome  he  gave  to  the  Bishop 
of  Cheyenne,  and  the  newcomer  had  not  the 
smallest  suspicion  that  he  was  regarded  as 


100  THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

a  rival  by  the  little  man  before  him.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  claims  of  the  Bishop  of 
Superior  were  too  firmly  grounded  to  be 
seriously  imperilled  by  this  almost  unknown 
bishop  from  the  far  West,  who  flung  every- 
thing like  episcopal  dignity  to  the  winds, 
and  whose  rough,  burly  manners  did  not 
prove  attractive  to  the  people  at  Rye.  St. 
Andrew's-by-the-Sea  was  full  of  people,  to 
be  sure,  on  the  Sunday  when  he  held  service 
there,  but  then  a  bishop,  no  matter  how 
gauche  his  appearance  might  be,  was  still  a 
bishop,  and  entitled  to  one  hearing  at  least. 
But  his  individuality  was  no  more  pleasing 
in  the  chancel  than  out  of  it,  and  his  occa- 
sional lapses  from  grammatical  propriety 
received  their  full  meed  of  sarcastic  com- 
ment from  his  hearers.  Some  of  these 
comments  reached  the  ears  of  the  other 
bishop  at  times.  Now  if  there  was  one 
essential  of  his  sermons  upon  which  the 
Bishop  of  Superior  prided  himself  more  than 
another,  it  was  on  the  accuracy  of  his  sen- 
tences, and  in  this  respect  he  certainly  had 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH        IOI 

a  great  advantage  over  the  careless  diocesan 
of  Cheyenne. 

"  I  heard  the  Bishop  of  Cheyenne  say  this 
morning  that  he  '  done  a  good  bit  of  travel- 
ling last  year,' "  observed  Janet  Clarke  in 
the  hearing  of  the  Bishop  of  Superior  one 
day.  "  I  wonder  what  grammar,  if  any,  is 
used  in  Cheyenne,"  she  added. 

"  You  forget,  Miss  Clarke,"  said  the  Bishop 
of  Superior,  in  a  tone  of  very  gentle  reproval, 
"  that  Cheyenne  is  a  very  rough  country. 
Perhaps  we  ought  not  to  be  surprised  if  the 
few  people  of  education  there  should  insen- 
sibly adopt  the  speech  of  those  about  them." 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  very  charitable  of  you, 
bishop,  to  put  it  in  that  way,"  observed 
Reginald  Smith,  who  was  one  of  the  group 
of  young  people  around  the  bishop,  "but  I 
have  heard  him  say  worse  things  than  that. 
Not  half  an  hour  ago  I  heard  him  remark 
in  the  smoking-room  that  he  was  rather  tired 
of  this  place,  and  he  believed  that  he  should 
'light  out'  in  a  day  or  two.  What  do  you 
say  to  that?" 


102  THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

The  bishop  smiled,  but  forbore  comment, 
and  De  Lancy  Greene  coming  up  just  then 
for  Reginald  to  join  him  in  a  drive  to 
Hampton,  no  answer  was  needed. 

It  was  very  evident  that  the  newcomer 
had  done  nothing  to  disturb  the  sway  of  the 
Bishop  of  Superior,  and  that  good  man  felt 
disposed  to  be  very  charitable  in  his  judg- 
ments of  the  half-tamed  bishop  from  the 
slopes  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  A  glow  of 
satisfaction  came  over  his  cheeks  as  he  took 
his  regular  evening  walk  toward  Little  Boar's 
Head  and  thought  of  his  own  popularity  at 
Rye,  which  nothing  was  likely  soon  to  affect, 
he  fancied.  And  that  was  all  he  knew  about 
it. 

A  day  or  two  later,  as  Reginald  Smith  and 
the  bishop  were  sitting  on  the  hotel  veranda, 
watching  a  game  of  tennis  between  Janet 
Clarke  and  De  Lancy  Greene,  Reginald  sud- 
denly asked :  "  By  the  way,  do  you  know 
anything  of  the  Lord  Bishop  of  Boothia 
Felix  ?  " 

His  companion  could  not  wholly  repress 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH        10$ 

a  little  shiver,  as  of  one  who  detects  a  subtle 
atmospheric  change,  but  he  replied,  calmly 
enough : 

"  I  know,  of  course,  that  there  is  such  a 
bishopric,  but  I  don't  remember  just  now 
who  fills  it.  But  whoever  it  be,  he  is  not  a 
lord  bishop,  because  only  prelates  having 
seats  in  the  House  of  Lords  have  that  title,  I 
believe." 

"  Well,"  said  Reginald,  "  I  was  over  at  the 
Shoals  yesterday,  and  they  told  me  at  the 
Appledore  House  that  the  Lord  Bishop  of 
Boothia  Felix  was  to  be  there  in  a  day  or 
two.  I  thought  after  he  arrived  you  might 
like  to  go  over  and  call  upon  him,  and,  if  so, 
De  Lancy  and  I  will  take  you  across  any 
day  that  will  suit  you.  I  supposed  that  was 
his  proper  title,"  added  the  speaker, "  because 
I  had  fancied  all  Anglican  bishops  were 
lords." 

"  It  is  a  mistake  constantly  made,"  began 
the  other;  —  "but  about  your  offer.  It  is 
very  good  of  you  to  make  it  and  I  will  let 
you  know  soon  what  day  will  suit  me  best 


IO4    THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

to  go,"  thinking  as  he  spoke  that  at  no  time 
would  it  exactly  suit  him  to  make  such  a 
call,  although  it  would  have  to  be  made, 
nevertheless.  For  now  it  will  be  surmised 
the  Bishop  of  Superior  scented  danger  from 
afar. 

The  lord  bishop,  as  people  persisted  in 
speaking  of  him,  persevered  in  his  intention 
of  going  to  Appledore,  and  the  dwellers  at 
the  Shoals  rejoiced  greatly  over  his  presence, 
but  the  Bishop  of  Superior  did  not  go  there 
at  once  to  pay  his  respects  to  the  spiritual 
governor  of  Boothia  Felix.  For  one  reason 
Reginald  Smith  was  summoned  to  Boston 
on  business,  the  morning  after  the  sailboat 
excursion  had  been  given,  and  doubtless  the 
other  reasons  the  bishop  had  for  delay  were 
equally  cogent.  But  a  goodly  number  of 
the  people  at  the  Crichton  went  to  the  Shoals 
in  the  course  of  the  following  week,  and  re- 
turned full  of  praises  of  the  Lord  Bishop  of 
Boothia  Felix. 

"  I  am  thankful  he  is  no  nearer  than 
Appledore,"  said  the  Bishop  of  Superior  to 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH        IO5 

his  wife  on  one  occasion.  "  It  is  tiresome 
enough  as  it  is,  to  hear  him  so  constantly 
quoted,  but  it  would  be  unendurable  if  he 
were  here  beside  us." 

"  I  was  rather  wishing  that  he  would  come 
for  a  little  while,"  the  other  replied,  some- 
what provokingly.  "  I  have  always  thought 
that  I  should  like  to  meet  a  lord  bishop." 

"  But  I  tell  you  he's  not  a  lord  bishop,"  said 
her  husband,  with  irritation,  and  for  the 
twentieth  time,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  he  ex- 
plained why  the  Bishop  of  Boothia  Felix,  be- 
ing only  a  colonial  prelate,  was  not  entitled 
to  be  called  a  lord. 

"  I  never  pretend  to  understand  all  these 
little  details  about  the  English  Church,"  said 
the  bishop's  wife,  placidly,  when  he  con- 
cluded, and  that  was  all  that  his  lengthy 
explanation  accomplished. 

"  They  say,"  said  De  Lancy  Greene  to  the 
bishop  the  next  morning,  "  that  the  people 
at  the  Wentworth  in  Newcastle  are  quite 
wild  to  have  the  Lord  Bishop  of  Boothia 
Felix  over  there." 


io6  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

"  They  are  wholly  welcome  to  him,"  was 
what  the  other  wanted  to  say,  but  he  made 
some  pleasant  reply  to  De  Lancy,  who  was 
very  far  from  suspecting  what  was  in  the 
bishop's  mind. 

That  morning  the  bishop  sat  by  himself 
in  the  shade  of  some  bushes  on  the  seashore 
for  a  long  time,  in  a  very  quiet,  contempla- 
tive mood.  The  Churchman  had  dropped 
from  his  hand  to  the  ground  unheeded. 

The  soft  noise  of  the  waves  upon  the  sand, 
the  light  breeze  blowing,  and  the  sight  of 
the  calm  surface  of  the  sea  in  front  of  him, 
had  lulled  him  into  peace  with  all  mankind, 
including  intrusive  bishops.  Even  the  sight 
of  the  Isles  of  Shoals,  which  seemed  to  hover 
on  the  water  a  few  miles  distant,  did  not 
serve  to  remind  him  of  his  rival  who  dwelt 
there.  He  counted  them,  as  he  never  could 
keep  from  doing  whenever  he  looked  in  their 
direction  on  a  clear  day.  White  Island,  with 
its  lighthouse,  stood  out  bold  and  clear  in 
the  sunshine.  Putting  up  his  glass,  he  could 
see  the  low  length  of  Londoner's  Island  in 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH        IO7 

front  of  the  group,  and  imagine  that  he  saw 
Square  Rock  beside  it.  But  it  was  only  his 
imagination.  Even  an  archbishop  would 
not  have  been  able  to  discern  it  at  that  dis- 
tance. But  Star  Island,  with  its  hotel  and 
other  houses,  was  plain  enough,  and  beyond 
it  Smutty  Nose,  Malaga,  and  Cedar  Islands 
blended  their  low  outlines  into  one.  Apple- 
dore  rose  up  blackly  against  the  horizon,  and 
the  houses  upon  it  seemed  close  at  hand 
when  he  looked  at  them  through  his  glass. 
Duck  Island  showed  its  black  jagged  rocks 
a  little  to  the  north  of  Appledore,  the  last  of 
the  group.  When  the  bishop  had  leisurely 
counted  the  islands,  and  ascertained  their 
number  to  be  exactly  the  same  as  on  the 
night  before,  he  carried  his  glass  still  farther 
to  the  northwest  and  saw,  long  miles  away, 
the  gray  shaft  of  the  Boon  Island  lighthouse 
rising  from  the  sea.  Then  he  put  down 
the  glass,  only  to  raise  it  a  moment  after  to 
watch  through  it  the  shoreward  progress  of 
the  steamer  from  Appledore  to  Portsmouth. 
The  smoke  from  its  pipe  drifted  away  on 


io8  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

the  faint  breeze  and  lay  like  a  small  cloud 
against  the  horizon.  A  very  tiny  cloud  it 
was,  but  if  the  bishop  could  have  looked  into 
the  future  he  would  have  recognised  in  this 
small  cloud  the  beginnings  of  one  which 
should  overspread  his  whole  firmament.  For 
the  Bishop  of  Boothia  Felix  was  on  board 
the  steamer  at  that  very  moment !  But  this 
the  other  bishop  happily  did  not  know,  and 
so  with  his  episcopal  serenity  undisturbed 
he  rose  presently  and  returned  to  the  hotel 
in  time  for  an  early  lunch,  so  that  he  and 
his  wife  could  join  the  Kirklands,  an  elderly 
couple  who  greatly  admired  the  spiritual 
master  of  Rye,  in  a  drive  to  Exeter  in  the 
afternoon  in  accordance  with  the  invitation 
given  by  Mr.  Kirkland  at  breakfast.  And 
so,  all  unsuspicious  of  what  might  be  in 
store  for  him,  the  bishop  went  on  his  drive 
as  serene  and  dignified  as  a  bishop  ought 
always  to  be.  It  was  nearly  the  dinner- 
hour  when  the  four  returned,  and  when  the 
bishop  and  his  wife  were  seated  at  their 
table  they  were  soon  joined  by  Reginald 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH        IOQ 

Smith,  who  had  arrived  from  Boston  in  their 
absence. 

"  By  the  way,  bishop,"  said  Reginald,  after 
greetings  had  been  exchanged,  "  who  do  you 
suppose  has  been  here  this  afternoon  ? " 

Just  at  that  moment  the  waiter  approached 
with  a  card  on  his  salver. 

"  This  was  left  for  you  this  afternoon," 
said  the  waiter,  "  and  the  clerk  omitted  to 
send  it  up  to  your  room  at  the  time." 

"  This  answers  your  question,"  said  the 
bishop,  as  he  read  from  the  card  the  name 
of  the  Bishop  of  Boothia  Felix.  He  spoke 
with  far  more  calmness  than  he  felt. 

"  Yes,  it  does,""  said  Reginald.  "  He  was 
delighted  when  he  heard  you  were  here ;  and, 
by  the  way,  I'm  awfully  sorry  it  happened 
that  I  could  not  take  you  to  the  Shoals  as  I 
promised.  However,  it  does  not  so  much 
matter  in  one  way  because,  after  he  ascer- 
tained you  were  here,  he  decided  to  leave 
the  Shoals,  and  is  coming  to  stay  at  the 
Crichton  next  week." 

"  Heaven  forbid,"  thought  Reginald's  lis- 


1 10   THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

tener,  which  was  rather  ungrateful,  consider- 
ing that  the  coming  prelate  had  expressed 
so  much  interest  in  him. 

"  Capital  thing,  isn't  it  ?  "  Reginald  went 
on.  "  He'll  be  no  end  of  company  for  you, 
and  I  fancy  that  after  he  comes  we  poor  lay- 
men will  be  at  a  great  discount  in  your 
eyes.  I  assure  you  he's  not  a  bit  like  that 
Cheyenne  duffer." 

"  I  wish  he  were,"  thought  the  bishop  to 
himself. 

"  But  you  mustn't  let  him  absorb  you  com- 
pletely," added  Reginald.  "  Remember  that 
we  have  some  claim  upon  you." 

In  the  nature  of  things  it  was  impossible 
for  the  young  man  to  know  how  little  desir- 
ous the  Bishop  of  Superior  was  of  being 
thus  absorbed  by  him  of  Boothia  Felix,  or 
how  little  real  pleasure  he  took  in  the  soci- 
ety of  his  episcopal  brethren.  Not  being  a 
bishop,  Reginald  could  not  from  his  own 
experience  be  aware  that  the  importance 
of  a  bishop  decreases  as  the  square  of  his 
number  increases.  A  unicorn  and  a  bishop 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH        I  I  I 

are  equally  interesting  for  their  rarity.  A 
bishop,  like  a  unicorn,  becomes  the  centre 
of  admiration  only  when  there  is  but  one  of 
him.  When  there  are  two  of  him  the  admi- 
ration is  proportionately  diminished  or  is 
transferred  almost  entirely  to  the  better 
specimen. 

Of  all  this  the  Bishop  of  Superior  was 
very  fully  aware  and  he  would  have  been 
devoutly  thankful  if,  considering  that  Hea- 
ven was  not  likely  to  hinder  the  approach  of 
the  Bishop  of  Boothia  Felix,  the  latter  individ- 
ual had  been  the  counterpart  of  the  member 
of  the  episcopate  whom  Reginald  Smith  had 
irreverently  called  "the  Cheyenne  duffer." 
A  few  days  yet  were  left  to  him  before  the 
Anglican  prelate  would  leave  Appledore  in 
quest  of  his  society,  and  of  those  he  made 
the  most.  Never  had  the  young  people  seen 
him  more  gracious  and  benignant  toward 
them ;  never  had  their  elders  found  him 
more  companionable  and  agreeable  than 
now;  but  only  the  bishop's  wife  knew  the 
real  reason  for  this  access  of  cordiality  on 


112  THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

the  part  of  her  husband.  That  worthy 
woman  having  enjoyed  the  felicity  of  his 
companionship  for  over  thirty  years,  was 
too  well  used  to  his  habits  of  procedure 
to  be  long  at  a  loss  to  account  for  any  of 
his  .movements.  And  the  bishop  knew  very 
well  that  his  wife  read  him  as  easily  as  he 
could  read  the  title  of  The  Churchman  on 
its  cover;  but  he  knew  also  that  she  read 
him  to  herself  and  not  to  the  outside 
world,  and  he  was  not  disturbed.  She  was 
seldom  aggressively  critical,  he  had  dis- 
covered. 

The  Bishop  of  Superior  was  not  wanting 
in  social  tact,  and  he  perceived  very  clearly 
that,  since  the  advent  of  his  Anglican 
brother  of  the  episcopate  was  inevitable,  he 
must  at  least  present  a  smiling  front.  Ac- 
cordingly, accompanied  by  his  wife,  he  called 
upon  the  Bishop  of  Boothia  Felix  at  Apple- 
dore,  and  on  the  day  when  the  latter  was  to 
leave  the  Shoals  he  went  to  Portsmouth 
to  accompany  him  the  rest  of  the  way  to 
Rye.  Simple  enough  as  all  this  sounds,  it 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH        113 

was  by  no  means  an  easy  business  for  the 
Bishop  of  Superior.  On  meeting  the  An- 
glican at  Appledore  the  diocesan  of  Superior 
discovered,  to  his  horror,  that  the  other 
bishop  was  a  much  larger  man  than  even 
"  the  Cheyenne  duffer,"  and  the  discovery  for 
a  moment  almost  rendered  him  speechless. 
To  make  matters  worse,  he  perceived  traces 
of  corresponding  surprise  in  the  face  of  the 
tall  man  looking  down  upon  him,  and  he 
knew  or  thought  he  knew  that  he  was  pre- 
senting much  the  same  appearance  to  the 
Bishop  of  Boothia  Felix  as  if  he  were  being 
viewed  through  the  wrong  end  of  a  spyglass. 
He  rallied  his  forces,  however,  and  exerted  all 
his  powers  to  please,  while  his  wife,  who  knew 
what  he  was  suffering,  saw  and  secretly  ad- 
mired her  husband.  This,  to  be  sure,  the 
object  of  the  admiration  could  not  know,  and, 
even  if  he  had  known,  it  would  have  yielded 
him  very  little  comfort. 

"  Why  couldn't  the  man  have  stayed  in  his 
Boothia  Felix  and  not  have  come  down 
where  he  is  not  wanted,  merely  to  make  the 


I  14   THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

region  an  infelix  to  me  ?  "  he  was  saying  to 
himself  while  aloud  he  uttered  the  most  civil 
of  phrases. 

Not  that  he  meant  to  be  insincere.  He 
was  not  consciously  so.  He  did  not  person- 
ally dislike  the  large  man  before  him ;  it  was 
only  his  bulk  that  was  objectionable.  A 
bishop  of  the  average  figure  he  felt  able  to 
hold  his  own  with,  although  he  liked  best 
to  have  no  stars  of  episcopal  magnitude  near 
him  for  any  length  of  time,  preferring  the 
society  of  clergy  of  rank  inferior  to  his  own ; 
but  when  bishops  of  such  gigantic  propor- 
tions as  those  of  the  one  from  Boothia 
Felix  came  to  be  considered,  he  was  dis- 
posed to  think  that  the  craft  and  subtlety 
of  the  devil  must  have  been  exercised  in 
bringing  him  into  close  relations  with  such 
a  prelate.  And  close  relations  he  foresaw 
they  must  sustain  while  in  the  same  hotel. 
As  he  pondered  the  matter  on  his  return  to 
Rye  he  almost  resolved  on  flight.  And  yet 
flight  was  not  easy. 

"  How  should  you  fancy  passing  the  rest 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH        115 

of  the  summer  at  Campobello,  my  dear  ?  " 
he  said  to  his  wife,  tentatively. 

"  What,  with  our  rooms  taken  at  the 
Crichton  till  October  and  all  our  plans 
made  to  remain  ?  What  are  you  thinking 
of  to  propose  it,  Augustus  ?  "  (By  that  lofty 
name  had  the  bishop  been  christened,  and 
certain  reckless  sheep  of  his  flock  were  used 
to  allude  to  him  as  Bishop  Gus.)  "  It  never 
would  do  in  the  world,"  was  added,  with 
decision. 

She  knew  very  well  of  what  her  husband 
was  thinking  and  she  could  not  forbear 
letting  him  see  that  she  knew. 

"  I  saw  by  this  week's  Churchman  that 
the  Lord  Bishop  of  Fredericton  was  ex- 
pected at  Campobello  in  a  day  or  two. 
Did  you  want  to  meet  him  ? "  she  asked, 
sharply.  But  the  poor  little  dignitary  said 
no  more.  Certainly  he  did  not  mean  to  fly 
from  the  presence  of  this  bishop  to  that  of  the 
then  Metropolitan  of  Canada.  No,  he  must 
abide  his  fate  at  Rye.  And  there  he  had 
the  advantage  of  being  on  his  own  ground, 


n6  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

and  he  took  to  himself  a  little  courage  from 
that  fact;  but  not  much,  and  when  he  fell 
asleep  that  night  it  was  only  to  dream  of 
attending  the  coming  General  Convention 
of  the  Church  and  presenting  a  bill  for  the 
consideration  of  the  House  of  Bishops  regard- 
ing the  size  of  its  members.  The  bill  pro- 
vided that  when  any  person  after  his  elevation 
to  the  episcopate  exceeded  a  prescribed  cir- 
cumference he  was  to  be  deposed  from  his 
office,  and  also  that  no  person  above  five 
feet  six  inches  in  height  should  be  eligible 
to  the  office  of  bishop.  When  he  recalled 
his  dream  in  the  morning  the  bill  did  not 
seem  such  a  feasible  one  as  it  had  done  in 
the  night  watches,  and  he  felt  that  the  House 
of  Bishops  would  hardly  receive  its  proposi- 
tions with  due  consideration.  He  did,  how- 
ever, sit  down  at  his  desk  to  write  a  paper  for 
the  American  Church  Review  viifa.  the  attrac- 
tive heading, "  Ought  Brains  or  Bulk  to  Gov- 
ern in  the  Choice  of  a  Bishop  ?  "  He  was  not 
suffered  to  advance  much  beyond  the  title, 
however,  for  his  wife,  judging  from  the  ex- 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH        I  17 

pression  of  his  features  that  he  meditated 
the  speeding  of  some  deadly  arrow,  came 
and  looked  over  his  shoulder.  "  Gus  ! " 
she  said,  severely. 

Now  the  bishop  hated  diminutives,  not 
unnaturally,  and  most  of  all  he  disliked  the 
familiar  diminutive  of  his  own  name.  His 
wife  knew  this  very  well,  and  consequently 
never  addressed  him  as  Gus  except  as  a  pre- 
lude to  expressions  of  strong  disapproval. 
Therefore  when  she  said  "  Gus "  in  her 
severest,  iciest  manner,  the  bishop  almost 
jumped  from  his  chair. 

"  Gus,"  she  repeated,  "  unless  you  wish  to 
be  the  laughing-stock  of  the  whole  episcopal 
bench,  and  of  every  one  who  knows  you,  in 
fact,  you  will  not  publish  anything  like  what 
you  have  begun  to  write." 

"  I  needn't  put  my  name  to  it,"  feebly 
remonstrated  the  harassed  bishop. 

"  Your  style  is  too  well  known  to  be  dis- 
guised," was  the  response  to  this.  "  People 
would  be  sure  to  suspect  you  of  writing  such 
a  thing." 


u8  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

The  bishop  made  no  audible  reply,  but  he 
tore  the  half-filled  sheet  into  small  pieces, 
threw  them  into  the  waste-basket,  and  then 
his  wife  returned  to  her  fancy  work  satisfied. 

As  was  stated  before,  the  Bishop  of 
Superior  went  to  Portsmouth  to  meet  the 
newcomer  on  the  day  the  latter  was  to  ar- 
rive at  Rye,  and  after  a  lunch  at  the  Rock- 
ingham  House  the  coach  for  Rye  called  for 
them. 

"  That  is  something  like,  now,"  observed 
the  Anglican  as  they  came  down  the  hotel 
steps.  "  It  will  be  fine  riding  on  those  top 
seats." 

On  hearing  this,  the  Bishop  of  Superior 
could  only  gasp  in  reply : 

"  But  it  will  be  very  dusty  up  there." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  returned  the  other  in  his 
big,  lusty  voice.  "  Driver,"  he  called  to  that 
personage,  "  it  will  not  be  dusty  to-day,  will 
it  ?  so  soon  after  the  rajn  ?  " 

On  receiving  the  required  assurance,  the 
Anglican  prelate,  with  far  more  agility  than 
one  would  have  expected  him  to  show,  swung 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH        I  19 

himself  up  to  the  coach  roof  and  perched 
himself  on  the  loftiest  seat,  "  like  Pelion 
upon  Ossa,"  as  the  other  bishop  could  not 
help  saying  to  himself.  Now  the  Bishop  of 
Superior  had  never  climbed  to  such  dizzy 
heights  in  the  sight  of  any  of  the  people  at 
Rye,  whatever  he  may  have  been  forced  by 
circumstances  to  do  in  his  own  diocese,  and 
he  didn't  at  all  like  the  prospect  before  him. 
Courtesy,  nevertheless,  demanded  that  he 
should  follow  the  lead  of  his  episcopal 
brother,  and  so,  after  vigorous  pushings 
from  the  driver,  supplemented  by  an  equally 
vigorous  hauling  upward  by  the  Bishop  of 
Boothia  Felix,  the  little  man  reached  the 
elevated  tableland  and  was  seated  beside  his 
companion,  too  much  blown  by  the  exertion 
to  speak  for  a  time.  Perhaps  this  was  for- 
tunate, because,  could  he  have  done  so,  he 
might  not  have  spoken  the  truth  in  that  love 
which  bishops  are  always  expected  to  have 
at  command.  With  returning  breath  suavity 
resumed  her  sway,  and  he  was  able  to  re- 
ply to  the  other's  remarks  with  a  great 


120    THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

deal     more  calmness  than   he    really  could 
feel. 

It  was  not  an  agreeable  position  for  the 
Bishop  of  Superior,  and  he  was  by  no  means 
sure  that  it  was  a  safe  one  either,  though  for 
that  he  cared  less.  But  to  dash  through 
Portsmouth  streets  and  along  the  road  to 
Rye  at  an  elevation  of  fifteen  feet  or  more 
from  the  ground,  at  the  side  of  a  man  five 
times  as  big  as  himself,  was  no  light  trial  for 
the  small  bishop.  He  was  convinced  that 
every  one  who  should  see  the  two  perched 
up  there  on  a  level  with  the  second-story 
windows  would  remark  the  contrast  between 
them,  in  which  conjecture  he  was  not  far 
wrong.  But  the  Anglican  was  superbly 
indifferent  to  all  such  considerations,  and 
when  the  bugler  blew  his  blast  from  the 
rumble  and  the  horses  started  off  briskly  he 
was  in  high  spirits,  which  not  even  the  ne- 
cessity of  constantly  dodging  the  branches 
all  along  the  avenue  leading  to  the  South 
Cemetery  could  at  all  dissipate.  How  the 
lesser  bishop  survived  that,  as  it  seemed  to 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH        121 

him,  perilous  drive  he  could  never  clearly 
tell,  and  during  the  whole  of  it  his  mind  was 
too  much  occupied  with  thoughts  of  his  ap- 
pearance in  such  a  position,  with  such  a 
companion  and  with  the  necessity  of  hold- 
ing on  firmly  in  order  to  retain  his  seat  as 
the  coach  went  flying  over  the  road,  to  allow 
him  to  return  any  but  the  vaguest  replies  to 
the  remarks  of  his  brother  prelate.  Several 
times  indeed,  at  the  more  violent  lurches  of 
the  vehicle,  he  clutched  wildly  at  the  arm  of 
that  reverend  gentleman,  who  gave  an  in- 
ward chuckle  each  time  as  he  said  to  him- 
self, "  Evidently  this  is  new  business  for  the 
little  American." 

The  ride  was  not  endless,  however,  but  as 
they  drew  up  before  the  Crichton  and  saw 
the  array  of  guests  assembled  on  the  veranda, 
the  Bishop  of  Superior  could  almost  have 
wished  it  had  been  if  the  present  awful 
moment  could  thereby  have  been  averted. 
There  was  his  wife  in  the  foreground,  but 
that  did  not  trouble  him.  Close  beside  her, 
however,  were  Janet  Clarke  and  De  Lancy 


122    THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

Greene,  and  behind  them  were  Reginald 
Smith  and  the  Kirklands,  while  the  rest  of 
the  people  he  knew  were  there  by  dozens. 
The  Bishop  of  Boothia  Felix,  waving  aside 
the  assistance  of  the  driver,  sprang  lightly 
down  from  the  coach  to  the  veranda  floor 
and  then  turned  to  assist  his  companion. 
"  Come,  bishop,"  he  said,  and  then,  to  his 
unspeakable  horror,  the  helpless  and  hap- 
less bishop  felt  himself  seized  by  the  long 
arms  of  the  Anglican  and  gently  but  swiftly 
soaring  through  the  air  in  a  long  curve  to 
the  veranda  floor  and  set  upon  his  aston- 
ished feet.  Never  to  his  knowledge  had  a 
bishop  been  subjected  to  such  treatment 
before,  and  his  feelings  on  the  occasion 
could  only  be  compared  to  those  of  the 
king  of  the  Red  Chessmen,  when  Alice  in 
Wonderland  lifted  him  from  the  floor  to 
the  table.  The  bishop  was  familiar  with 
this  historic  event,  and  he  wondered  if  any 
thought  of  the  likeness  between  himself  and 
the  Red  King  occurred  to  any  of  the  pres- 
ent spectators.  In  point  of  fact,  De  Lancy 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH        123 

Greene  was  just  then  whispering  that  very 
thing  to  Janet  Clarke. 

The  wife  of  the  Bishop  of  Superior  at  that 
moment  sincerely  pitied  her  husband,  for  she 
well  knew  what  must  be  the  state  of  his 
mind,  and  she  was  not  surprised  to  hear 
him  excuse  himself  to  the  Anglican  on  the 
plea  of  fatigue,  promising  to  meet  him  at 
dinner  an  hour  or  two  later.  When  she 
could  do  so  she  followed  her  husband,  and 
found  him  walking  up  and  down  their  pri- 
vate parlour  in  a  high  state  of  excitement. 

"  My  dear,"  he  almost  shouted  as  she 
entered,  "  did  you  see  how  I  was  treated  ? " 

His  wife  murmured  a  not  very  intelligible 
reply.  She  could  not  in  truth  say  no,  and  it 
was  not  pleasant  to  have  to  say  yes,  and 
therefore  she  sought  refuge  in  disconnected 
syllables.  But  it  mattered  little,  for  the 
bishop  was  too  full  of  wrath  to  heed.  "  Of 
course  you  saw  it.  You  must  have  seen  it," 
he  went  on  with  gathering  ire.  "  Confound 
the  Bishop  of  Boothia  Felix ! "  and  the  mild 
oath  had  in  his  lips  all  the  fervour  of  a  much 


124    THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

stronger  one.  "  I  wish  the  Bishop  of  Boothia 
Felix  was  in  — '  "  Augustus !  "  interposed 
the  bishop's  wife  rather  sternly.  She  had 
sympathised  up  to  that  point,  but  even  of- 
fended episcopal  dignitaries  ought  not  to 
exceed  certain  limits  of  expression,  she 
rightly  felt.  The  bishop,  thus  admonished, 
broke  off  his  sentence  in  mid-air  and  left 
the  desired  locale  of  the  Anglican  an  in- 
ferential possibility,  contenting  himself  with 
adding : 

"  I  never  can  be  civil  to  that  man  again, 
never !  "  To  this  his  wife  made  no  response. 
She  knew  her  husband,  and  so  it  occasioned 
her  no  surprise  to  behold  him  an  hour  later 
talking  to  the  spiritual  pastor  of  Boothia 
Felix  across  the  dinner-table  as  if  he  had 
only  the  most  amiable  of  feelings  toward 
that  ecclesiastic.  But  really  no  other  course 
was  open  to  the  Bishop  of  Superior.  In  a 
certain  sense  the  intruder,  for  such  he  con- 
sidered the  newcomer,  was  his  guest,  and  he 
was  bound  in  honour  to  accord  him  the  civil- 
ities his  station  demanded.  There  was  no 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH        125 

room  for  the  play  of  indignant  or  resentful 
feelings.  And  the  Bishop  of  Superior  knew 
also  that,  however  well  resentment  may  be- 
come a  large  man  whose  dignity  has  been 
ruffled,  it  is  merely  food  for  the  laughter  of 
gods  and  men  when  indulged  in  by  a  small 
man,  and  thus  there  was  even  an  extra  touch 
of  courtesy  in  his  manner  when  he  met  the 
Anglican  at  dinner. 

As  for  the  Bishop  of  Boothia  Felix,  he 
had  not  the  smallest  notion  that  his  com- 
pany was  not  highly  enjoyed  by  the  dio- 
cesan of  Superior,  and  he  very  generously 
bestowed  much  of  it  upon  him.  On  hotel 
verandas,  on  the  strolls  to  Little  Boar's 
Head,  or  in  the  rambles  about  Rye,  the 
lesser  bishop  was  now  never  seen  without 
the  greater  one  by  his  side.  The  only  place 
where  the  Bishop  of  Superior  felt  secure  was 
in  his  own  private  parlour,  but  of  course  he 
could  not  shut  himself  up  there  constantly. 
The  new  arrival  naturally  received  many 
courtesies  from  the  people  at  the  hotel,  but 
in  all  invitations  requesting  his  company  in 


126  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

drives  and  excursions  the  Bishop  of  Superior 
was  included  in  a  similar  invitation,  and  the 
latter  felt  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  accept. 
Indeed, .whenever  he  received  a  verbal  invi- 
tation the  Bishop  of  Boothia  Felix  would 
always  reply,  in  his  hearty,  good-humoured 
manner : 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  to  accept  it  if 
my  little  friend  here  is  to  be  one  of  the 
party.  I  could  not  think  of  going  without 
him." 

Little  friend  indeed !  Truly  the  lot  of  the 
Bishop  of  Superior  was  just  now  a  very  hard 
one. 

So  it  came  to  be  understood  that  the  major 
bishop  and  the  minor  bishop  were  always  to 
be  asked  together.  And  all  this  was  as  gall 
and  wormwood  to  the  minor  bishop.  But  he 
was  quite  beyond  the  reach  of  human  help, 
and  he  hardly  liked  to  appeal  to  divine  as- 
sistance to  rid  him  from  the  embrace  of  this 
episcopal  Old  Man  of  the  Sea  whom  he, 
like  an  ecclesiastical  Sindbad,  was  doomed 
to  carry  about  with  him.  His  wife  beheld 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH        12"J 

him  smiling  bravely  beneath  his  burden,  but 
was  powerless  to  assist.  Reginald  Smith, 
the  only  person  besides  his  wife  in  whom  the 
bishop  ventured  to  confide,  was  of  some  little 
consolation  because  he  would  take  the  bishop 
out  for  an  occasional  row  or  sail,  whither  the 
Bishop  of  Boothia  Felix  could  not  follow. 
At  such  times  the  Bishop  of  Superior  took 
a  little  comfort. 

"  Hang  the  fellow ! "  Reginald  would  say, 
referring  to  the  Anglican ;  "  what  does  he 
mean  by  coming  down  to  interfere  with  all 
our  good  times  ?  " 

The  little  bishop  knew  very  well  that  he 
ought  not  to  countenance  Reginald  in  such 
outbursts  regarding  so  exalted  a  personage 
(exalted  in  more  than  one  sense)  as  the 
spiritual  lord  of  Boothia  Felix,  but  as  his 
sentiments  and  Reginald's  agreed  perfectly 
he  uttered  no  reproof. 

It  was  Tuesday  when  the  Anglican  came, 
and  it  was  understood  that  on  the  Sunday 
following  he  would  preach  at  St.  Andre w's- 
by-the-Sea,  and  accordingly  the  little  stone 


128  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

church  was  filled  on  that  occasion.  The 
conduct  of  the  service  was  taken  by  a  visit- 
ing clergyman  from  Boston  and  by  the 
Bishop  of  Superior,  and  then,  towering  above 
the  pulpit,  which,  so  to  speak,  was  a  tight  fit 
for  him,  the  Bishop  of  Boothia  Felix  rose  to 
begin  his  sermon.  Much  had  not  unnatu- 
rally been  expected  from  so  large  a  man,  and 
this  time  expectation  did  not  go  unrewarded, 
for  his  lordship,  as  people  perversely  contin- 
ued to  style  him,  proved  to  be  a  most  elo- 
quent preacher.  And  the  listening  bishop, 
who  could  recognise  clerical  eloquence  when 
he  heard  it,  was  unwillingly  forced  to  ad- 
mit that  his  rival  was  as  formidable  in  the 
pulpit  as  out  of  it.  Doubtless  he  ought  to 
have  rejoiced  greatly  in  his  brother's  clerical 
gifts  and  graces,  as  it  became  him,  a  bishop, 
to  do,  but  bishops,  whatever  their  shade  of 
churchmanship  may  be,  are  but  human,  and 
every  fibre  of  the  small  bishop's  humanity 
rebelled  at  the  thought  of  being  obliged  to 
take  a  second  place  where  the  first  had  so 
long  been  his. 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH        1 29 

After  service  the  two  bishops  walked  to 
the  hotel  together  along  the  shady  seaside 
road.  The  Bishop  of  Superior  would  have 
avoided  this  had  it  been  possible,  but  his 
wife  had  gone  ahead  with  the  rector  from 
Boston,  and  when  the  Anglican,  hastening 
out  of  the  robing-room,  had  familiarly  laid 
his  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder  with  the 
words,  "  Well,  bishop,  your  wife  seems  to 
have  left  you  in  my  charge  to  take  back  to 
the  hotel,"  there  was  nothing  left  for  the  one 
addressed  but  smiling  if  inwardly  indignant 
acquiescence. 

"  I  am  so  much  pleased  with  Rye  that  I 
think  of  staying  till  late  in  September," 
observed  the  large  man  in  the  course  of  the 
walk. 

At  hearing  this  calmly  made  announce- 
ment, the  listener  could  almost  have  groaned 
aloud.  Late  September !  and  it  wanted  a 
week  to  the  end  of  July  now.  How  were 
the  next  eight  weeks  to  be  lived  through? 
"Wouldn't  you  get  a  better  notion  of  the 
country  by  travelling  about  rather  more  ?  " 


130  THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

ventured  the  Bishop  of  Superior  in  his  very 
blandest  tones. 

"  Oh,  I  have  been  in  the  States  several 
times  before,  and  it  seems  to  suit  me  per- 
fectly this  season  to  remain  for  the  summer 
in  this  charming  spot,  particularly  as  I  can 
have  the  additional  attraction  of  your  com- 
pany," was  the  response. 

The  other  acknowledged  the  compliment 
by  a  bow. 

"  You  flatter  me,"  he  said,  rather  feebly, 
feeling  as  he  spoke  a  wild  desire  to  kick  his 
reverend  companion.  But  although  he  re- 
membered that 

"  A  kick  that  scarce  will  move  a  horse 
Will  kill  a  sound  divine," 

he  doubted  whether  the  result  of  a  kick 
administered  by  his  own  small  foot  would 
have  in  this  case  such  a  desirable  result. 
No,  it  would  not  do  to  try  it.  He  must  bear 
his  cross  patiently.  But  however  patiently 
borne,  its  weight  did  not  diminish  as  the 
days  went  on.  If  the  minor  bishop  had 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH        13! 

looked  with  smiling  approval  on  the  amuse- 
ments in  vogue  at  Rye,  the  major  bishop  did 
even  more.  At  billiards  he  proved  an  adept 
and  at  tennis  was  equally  skilful,  and  to  see 
his  gigantic  figure  leaping  after  a  high  ball 
was  a  sight  not  to  be  soon  forgotten  and  in 
marked  contrast  to  the  decorous  skippings 
of  the  other  bishop.  On  one  very  warm 
morning,  as  the  two  bishops  were  on  the 
tennis-court  with  Reginald  and  De  Lancy, 
the  Bishop  of  Boothia  Felix  complained 
much  of  the  heat,  and  Reginald  was  able  to 
persuade  the  hatless  prelate  to  don  for  the 
time  a  spare  blazer  and  tennis-cap  of  his 
own.  In  this  garb,  so  unusual  for  an  eccle- 
siastic, the  Bishop  of  Boothia  Felix  did  not 
appear  at  his  best,  to  the  open  delight  of 
Reginald  and  the  secret  joy  of  the  diocesan 
of  Superior.  The  blazer  which  Reginald 
had  lent  the  bishop  was  of  alternate  stripes 
of  black  and  vivid  orange,  and  its  wearer 
was  made  by  it  more  conspicuous  than  ever. 
At  this  moment  the  star  of  the  minor 
bishop  was  again  in  the  ascendant  at  Rye. 


132  THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

If  it  could  thus  have  remained  !  But  bishops 
are  as  much  at  the  mercy  of  circumstance 
as  the  most  ordinary  layman,  even  more  so, 
the  Bishop  of  Superior  came  to  think. 

On  the  last  evening  in  July  the  two 
bishops  were  walking  most  amicably  along 
the  cliff  path  to  Little  Boar's  Head,  and  a 
dozen  or  two  of  the  other  guests  were  stroll- 
ing in  their  company  and  enjoying  the  quiet 
beauty  of  sea  and  sky  in  the  afterglow  of  a 
late  sunset.  The  desultory  talk  ceased  as 
they  gained  a  projecting  part  of  the  cliff  and 
turned  to  look  westward.  The  sea  in  front, 
tinged  with  crimson,  moved  slowly  in  long 
undulations.  The  houses  on  the  Isles  of 
Shoals  stood  out  blackly  against  the  colour 
behind  them  and  the  lamps  of  White  Island 
light  — 

"  Shone  like  a  glorious  clustered  flower, 
Ten  golden  and  five  red." 

A  small  inland  sheet  of  water  to  the  left 
caught  the  sunset  glow  and  reddened  up 
to  the  borders  of  the  dark  woods  on  its 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH        133 

farther  edge.  A  belated  bird  uttered  a 
troubled  cry  and  the  faint  lapping  of  the 
soft  waves  on  the  pebbles  came  up  to  their 
ears.  It  was  one  of  those  peaceful  moments 
that  come  so  rarely,  but  which  have  the 
power  when  they  do  come  to  banish  for  a 
while  all  hardness  from  the  hearts  of  men. 
I  think  the  Bishop  of  Superior  could  have 
found  it  possible  just  then  to  love  even  the 
Bishop  of  Boothia  Felix.  But  his  thoughts 
were  not  of  him  at  that  moment.  He  stood 
close  to  the  cliff  edge  looking  out  upon  the 
slow  surging  of  the  twilight  sea,  while  the 
peace  that  passeth  understanding  filled  his 
heart  and  left  him  no  desire  for  speech. 
*  Not  so  the  other  bishop.  He  was  im- 
pressed with  the  quiet  beauty  of  the  even- 
ing, but  in  a  different  manner,  and  his 
feelings  sought  an  outlet.  It  was  for  this 
reason  that  he  began  to  say  aloud  in  a  tone 
quite  suited  to  the  occasion  had  there  been 
need  to  speak  at  all : 

"  Thou  makest  the  outgoings  of  the  morn- 
ing and  evening  to  praise  Thee,"  raising  his 


134    THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

arm  as  he  spoke  and  pointing  to  the  glowing 
west.  It  was  an  unfortunate  movement,  for 
he  did  not  notice  how  close  he  stood  to 
the  other  bishop,  who  suddenly  felt  himself 
struck  with  considerable  force,  and,  before  he 
could  recover  from  the  shock,  was  knocked 
off  his  legs  as  he  stood  on  the  insecure  edge 
and  hurled  quite  over  the  cliff. 

"  God  bless  my  soul ! "  exclaimed  the  Angli- 
can, aghast  at  the  result  of  his  impressive 
gesture.  "  What  have  I  done  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  idiot !  "  muttered  Reginald  be- 
tween his  teeth  as  he  rushed  to  the  cliff 
edge ;  "  you've  done  for  him  this  time." 

But  the  Bishop  of  Superior  had  not  fallen 
far,  having  lodged  very  fortunately  in  the 
branches  of  a  small  cedar,  across  the  top  of 
which  he  lay  on  his  back  unhurt  but  power- 
less to  help  himself.  Nor  was  it  at  first 
sight  clearly  apparent  how  he  was  to  be 
aided  by  any  one  else.  The  boughs  of  the 
tree  were  too  slender  to  sustain  the  weight 
of  any  person  climbing  up  to  assist  him,  and 
only  the  distribution  of  his  weight  over  the 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH        135 

top  prevented  his  crushing  it  beneath  him. 
He  could  not  be  reached  by  any  one  standing 
at  the  foot  of  the  tree,  and  it  was  manifestly 
imprudent  to  shake  it  in  order  to  gather  its 
ecclesiastical  fruitage.  What  was  to  be 
done  ? 

"  I  have  it,"  said  the  Bishop  of  Boothia 
Felix,  suddenly,  and  off  he  started  on  a  run 
to  the  hotel,  returning  sooner  than  could 
have  been  looked  for  and  bearing  a  step- 
ladder  of  considerable  length,  which  he 
planted  on  the  cliffside  close  to  the  cedar 
with  its  unwilling  burden. 

He  now  mounted  the  ladder,  which  was 
held  firmly  at  the  foot  by  Reginald  and  De 
Lancy,  and  from  this  vantage-ground  he 
seized  upon  his  clerical  friend  and  lifted  him 
from  his  uncomfortable  episcopal  throne 
with  very  little  effort,  and  set  him  upon  his 
feet  on  the  cliff.  But  if  the  small  bishop 
had  been  wrathful  as  he  lay  on  the  treetop 
looking  up  to  the  soft  twilight  sky  slowly 
paling  from  crimson  into  grey,  he  was  not 
less  so  when  he  felt  himself  for  the  second 


1 36  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

time  that  season  swung  through  the  air  in 
the  grasp  of  the  mighty  Northwest  bishop. 
He  knew  with  the  quick  instinct  of  wounded 
dignity  precisely  how  he  must  appear  dan- 
gling at  the  ends  of  those  long  arms  that  had 
already  done  him  so  much  harm,  and  he 
had  time  in  his  curvilinear  flight  to  wish 
that  the  fall  had  killed  him.  Then,  at  least, 
the  Bishop  of  Boothia  Felix  would  have  felt 
the  pangs  of  remorse  for  the  remainder  of 
his  natural  life. 

But  remorse,  or  at  least  regret  for  his  awk- 
wardness, was  disturbing  that  reverend  person 
just  now,  and  having  reinstated  the  Bishop 
of  Superior  on  the  cliff,  he  was  full  of  apolo- 
gies and  offers  of  service.  The  rest  of  the 
company  were  equally  voluble  with  sympathy 
and  hopes  that  the  diocesan  of  Superior  had 
sustained  no  injury,  but  the  sensitive  bishop 
knew  how  ridiculous  an  appearance  he  had 
presented,  and  he  felt  that  secret  laughter 
must  tickle  all  their  souls,  whatever  civil 
speeches  they  might  make.  He  declared 
over  and  over  again  that  he  was  quite 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH         137 

unhurt,  which  was  true  of  his  physical  con- 
dition but  utterly  false  as  far  as  his  feelings 
were  concerned,  for  he  knew  very  well  that 
he  could  never  hold  up  his  head  in  Rye 
again.  He  added,  however,  that  he  felt 
rather  shaken  up,  and  if  they  would  excuse 
him  he  would  walk  back  to  the  hotel  if  his 
friend,  Mr.  Smith,  would  only  give  him  his 
arm;  but  he  earnestly  begged  that  the  others 
would  not  shorten  their  stroll  on  his  account, 
and  after  some  slight  demurs  he  was  suffered 
to  return  with  only  Reginald  in  his  company. 

"  Damn  that  idiot !  "  exclaimed  the  younger 
man  when  the  others  were  out  of  hearing. 

His  companion  pretended  not  to  hear,  but 
his  heart  echoed  the  malediction. 

The  bishop  breakfasted  in  his  own  apart- 
ments the  next  morning  in  company  with 
his  wife  and  Reginald,  and,  in  response  to  an 
inquiry  sent  up  by  the  cause  of  all  his  woes, 
who  "  hoped  that  his  reverend  friend  was 
not  feeling  the  worse  for  the  unfortunate 
occurrence  of  yesterday,"  returned  for  answer 
that  he  felt  nothing  more  than  a  headache 


138  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

which  would  confine  him  to  his  room  for 
the  day,  he  feared.  The  three  then  held  a 
council  together  to  decide  upon  their  next 
move,  for  the  bishop  had  said  with  much 
emphasis  that  he  could  not  stay  and  meet 
that  man  every  day  and  be  civil  to  him. 

"  But  you  know  our  rooms  are  taken  for 
the  season,"  urged  the  bishop's  wife,  with 
whom  economical  considerations  had  much 
weight,  —  but  her  husband  shook  his  head 
sadly. 

"  Better  stay  and  fight  him,"  said  Reginald, 
pugnaciously. 

"  I  cannot,"  said  the  bishop.  "  I  simply 
cannot.  To  stay  means  that  I  must  remain 
in  the  daily  companionship  of  a  man  who  is 
perpetually  putting  me  in  a  ridiculous  and 
mortifying  light  before  every  one  and  to 
whom  it  is  a  most  difficult  thing  for  me  to 
be  decently  civil.  I  know  he  is  perfectly 
well-intentioned  and  is  not  aware  of  what  he 
is  doing,  but  that  does  not  make  the  matter 
easier  for  me." 

"  But  where  will  you  go  ? "  said  his  wife ; 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH         139 

and  to  this  the  tortured  bishop  made  no 
reply. 

"  I  have  a  plan,"  said  Reginald,  after  some 
moments  had  been  spent  in  silence.  "  You, 
I  know,"  turning  to  the  bishop's  wife,  "prefer 
remaining  here  with  your  friends  and  in 
your  own  rooms,  but  I  will  take  the  bishop 
to  the  White  Mountains  as  my  guest  until 
October  if  he  will  consent  to  go." 

To  this  arrangement  the  bishop  did  con- 
sent very  willingly,  and,  it  being  arranged 
when  his  wife  should  join  him  for  their 
return  to  his  diocese,  a  few  days  later  saw 
the  bishop  and  Reginald  on  their  way  to  the 
White  Mountains.  Every  one  was  present 
to  see  them  off  on  the  Portsmouth  coach, 
and  this  time  the  bishop  was  not  an  outside 
passenger.  Many  were  the  expressions  of 
regret  from  the  people  at  the  hotel,  mingled 
with  hopes  of  seeing  them  the  next  season, 
but  to  these  last  the  Bishop  of  Superior  did 
not  reply  confidently. 

"  I  wish  I  were  going  with  you  two 
people,"  said  the  Bishop  of  Boothia  Felix 


I4O    THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

to  the  travellers  as  he  stood  by  the  coach 
door. 

"  What,  and  leave  us  entirely  without  ben- 
efit of  clergy  ?  "  hurriedly  interposed  the  wife 
of  the  departing  bishop,  who  did  not  mean 
to  give  her  husband  a  chance  to  utter  an- 
other civil  untruth  if  she  could  help  it,  if 
indeed  he  were  equal  to  the  task,  which  in 
point  of  fact  he  was  not  but  could  only  gaze 
helplessly  at  Reginald. 

"  But  I  am  exceedingly  sorry  that  you  are 
going,"  said  the  major  bishop  when  he  had 
answered  the  lady,  "  for  I  have  enjoyed  your 
company  greatly.  Still  I  know  how  tempt- 
ing an  offer  such  a  trip  as  yours  must  seem, 
and  I  don't  wonder  you  are  going.  Perhaps 
I  may  be  able  to  join  you  later.  Is  it  at 
Fabyans  where  you  are  to  be  ? " 

At  this  question,  asked  with  such  cheerful 
good  nature,  the  bishop  in  the  coach  grew 
pale  with  dismay.  Was  there  then  no  pos- 
sible escape  for  him  ?  But  Reginald  was 
equal  to  the  occasion. 

"  We  go  to  Fabyans  now,"  he  said,  with  a 


WHY  THE  BISHOP  LEFT  RYE  BEACH        14! 

blandness  he  must  have  caught  from  his 
clerical  friend,  "  but  only  for  a  few  days,  and 
after  that  shall  be  continually  on  the  move, 
I  fancy,  so  that  we  don't  know  ourselves 
just  where  we  shall  go.  It  will  be  as  the 
whim  takes  us." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  other,  looking  a  little  dis- 
appointed ;  "  then  it  must  be  farewell  for  a 
year,  but  only  for  a  year,  for  I  mean  to  get 
here  next  summer." 

"  Farewell,  then,  for  a  year,"  responded  the 
Bishop  of  Superior  with  a  great  effort  to 
be  courteous,  as  he  extended  his  hand  to 
him. 

"  Well,"  said  to  himself  the  bishop  who 
was  left  in  possession  of  the  field,  "  I  shall 
miss  the  little  American  very  much.  He  is 
the  soul  of  courtesy  and  good  feeling." 

"  Thank  Heaven,  we've  seen  the  last  of 
him,"  the  "  little  American  "  was  saying  to 
Reginald  at  that  very  moment. 


THE  TRIALS  OF  A  RETIRED 
BISHOP 


THE  TRIALS  OF  A  RETIRED 
BISHOP 

WHEN  the  Bishop  of  Tuscaloosa,  at  the 
age  of  sixty,  relinquished  his  episco- 
pal duties,  and  entered  the  ranks  of  that 
very  small  but  intensely  respectable  body  of 
ecclesiastics  known  as  "  retired  bishops,"  he 
was  quite  of  the  opinion  that  he  knew  ex- 
actly what  he  was  about.  This  was  natural 
enough,  for  throughout  his  career  he  had 
never  been  without  this  comfortable  assur- 
ance respecting  his  actions.  The  bishop's 
wife  was  not  always  so  sure  of  the  clearness 
of  her  husband's  mental  vision,  but  she  knew 
better  than  to  say  so  in  as  many  words. 
The  bishop  had  taken  priests'  orders  at  the 
age  of  twenty-five,  and  at  forty  had  become 
Bishop  of  Tuscaloosa,  and  of  that  sparsely 
peopled  and  very  restive  diocese  he  had, 
J45 


146  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

therefore,  been,  at  the  time  of  his  retirement, 
the  episcopal  head  for  a  score  of  years. 
The  numberless  fatigues  consequent  upon 
administering  to  the  spiritual  needs  of  a 
large  diocese,  the  churches  of  which  were  as 
widely  sundered  as  the  schools  of  religious 
thought  covered  by  the  Church's  wide  man- 
tle (all  of  which  schools  were  represented  in 
the  diocese),  had  made  the  bishop's  duties 
both  arduous  and  perplexing.  His  labours 
had  worn  upon  him,  and  he  needed  rest, 
he  told  himself.  He  did  not  mean  to  be 
idle.  He  meant  to  hold  himself  ready  to 
extend  occasional  assistance  to  some  over- 
worked occupant  of  the  episcopal  bench,  to 
preach  now  and  then,  to  preside  at  this  or 
that  meeting  of  clergy  or  laymen  where  his 
services  should  be  desired,  —  all  this  was  in 
his  forecast  of  the  future.  But  he  felt  that 
he  had  earned  the  right  to  retire  from  active 
clerical  life,  and  so,  no  doubt,  he  had. 
Anxieties  enough  and  to  spare  had  attended 
his  episcopal  career  from  the  start.  He  had 
done  with  them  now,  he  told  himself.  He 


THE  TRIALS  OF  A  RETIRED  BISHOP        147 

could  not  know,  poor  man,  that  he  was,  in 
effect,  removing  from  the  frying-pan  into 
the  fire. 

Perhaps  it  is  needless  to  state  that  the 
Bishop  of  Tuscaloosa  was  a  conscientious 
man.  Indeed,  one's  mind  refuses  to  enter- 
tain the  notion  of  a  prelate  who  is  not 
conscientious.  A  dean  and  decorum  are 
not  more  inseparable  in  one's  thought.  But 
the  Bishop  of  Tuscaloosa  was  narrow-minded, 
a  quality  that,  though  frequently  found  in 
bishops,  is  not  invariably  discovered  in  them, 
and  this  possession  of  his  had  been  a  de- 
cided disadvantage  to  him  as  a  bishop.  His 
churchmanship  was  of  a  primitive  evangeli- 
cal type  which  made  small  allowances  for 
differences  of  temperament  and  consequent 
shades  of  opinion.  To  him  any  approach 
to  broad  church  views  was  as  abhorrent  as 
any  leaning  toward  a  high  church  position, 
while  ritualism  was  something  that  excited 
his  deepest  feelings  of  horror.  His  theologi- 
cal training  had  led  him  to  believe  firmly  in 
the  existence  of  two  arch  enemies  of  man- 


148  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

kind,  suffragans,  in  fact,  to  the  most  subtle 
enemy  of  all,  and  these  were  what  he  termed 
Socinianism  and  Romanism.  Now  there 
was  not  a  Socinian  or  Unitarian  church  any- 
where within  the  diocese  of  Tuscaloosa,  and 
the  Roman  Catholics  in  that  region  were, 
like  the  conies,  a  feeble  folk,  and  not  greatly 
to  be  feared ;  nevertheless,  in  season  and  out 
of  season  (and  mainly  out  of  season),  through- 
out his  diocese,  its  right  reverend  head  made 
war  upon  these  two  delusions  of  the  human 
soul.  To  do  him  justice,  the  bishop  thought 
he  saw  abundant  evidence  of  the  deadly 
work  of  these  two  emissaries  of  Satan.  In 
the  more  liberal  or  broad  church  parishes 
under  his  sway,  he  plainly  saw  Socinius 
stalking  abroad  sowing  the  deadly  seeds  of 
rationalism ;  in  other  parishes  the  insidious 
Jesuit  was  responsible  for  the  appearance  of 
an  altar  cross  here,  a  cassock  there,  and  a 
choral  service  in  another  place.  In  justice 
to  his  people  how  was  he  to  keep  silence  in 
the  presence  of  these  two  active  foes  ? 

As  time   went   on   his   attitude  changed 


THE  TRIALS  OF  A  RETIRED  BISHOP        149 

slightly.  He  no  longer  frowned  at  the  sight 
of  flowers  upon  the  altar,  and  he  discarded 
the  black  gown ;  but  save  for  such  slight 
yieldings  to  the  times  he  stood  at  sixty 
where  he  had  stood  at  thirty,  a  conscien- 
tious, valiant,  but  purblind  defender  of  the 
faith.  Very  few  parishes  in  his  diocese 
shared  in  all  respects  the  opinions  of  their 
diocesan,  but  they  bore  with  him,  respected 
him  on  general  principles,  and  did  genuinely 
admire  his  courage.  For  the  windmills  at 
which  he  tilted  were  all,  in  his  eyes,  veritable 
monsters.  The  diocese  vaguely  hoped  that 
he  would  some  day  be  chosen  to  preside 
over  some  other  field,  and  it  was  prepared 
to  meet  this  event  with  fortitude  if  it  ever 
came,  but  it  did  not  much  expect  that  it 
would.  That  its  respected  diocesan  in  the 
plenitude  of  his  powers  would  voluntarily 
resign  his  office,  was  something  that  it  had 
never  contemplated,  and  when  this  event  be- 
fell, the  diocese  relapsed  temporarily  into  a 
kind  of  stunned  silence.  From  this  state  of 
mind  it  rapidly  recovered,  accepted  its  dio- 


I5O    THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

cesan's  resignation  with  decorous,  regretful 
surprise,  and  at  the  expiration  of  the  twen- 
tieth year  of  his  episcopate,  at  which  date  his 
resignation  was  to  take  effect,  presented  him 
with  a  solid  silver  thank-offering  for  deliv- 
erance, though  the  same  was  discreetly  called 
a  slight  testimonial  to  his  eminent  merits  as 
bishop.  The  recipient,  we  may  be  sure, 
regarded  it  in  that  light,  and  naturally  could 
conceive  of  no  other  in  which  it  might  be 
viewed. 

The  bishop  was  for  some  time  in  doubt 
where  to  make  his  home  after  quitting  his 
former  diocese,  but  after  much  sitting  in 
council  with  his  wife  and  daughter,  the 
prelate  at  last  fixed  upon  the  university  city 
of  Cambridge  as  the  place  of  his  retirement. 
Though  admitted  to  the  family  council,  his 
wife  and  daughter  had  not  taken  an  active 
part  in  it,  knowing  that  it  was  not  expected 
of  them.  No  more  than  Mr.  Tulliver,  was 
the  Bishop  of  Tuscaloosa  accustomed  to  be 
told  the  rights  of  things  by  his  own  fireside, 
though  that  prelate's  decisions  were  some- 


THE  TRIALS  OF  A  RETIRED  BISHOP        15! 

times  more  modified  by  feminine  influence 
than  he  was  aware.  In  this  case,  however, 
the  choice  had  been  the  bishop's  very  own, 
and  mainly  due  to  a  remembrance  of  Cam- 
bridge as  seen  by  him  on  some  trip  north- 
ward in  his  early  manhood. 

The  choice  once  made,  the  removal  to 
Cambridge  followed  soon  after,  and  not  far 
from  the  end  of  June  the  bishop  and  his 
family  were  established  in  the  heart  of  that 
ancient  town  upon  its  most  intensely  respect- 
able thoroughfare. 

"  Now,"  said  the  late  diocesan  of  Tusca- 
loosa,  when  he  and  his  wife  and  daughter 
were  settled  in  their  new  home,  "  now,  there 
is  nothing  to  prevent  my  passing  my  declin- 
ing years  here  in  peace  and  quietness." 

But  there  was  one  great  obstacle  in  the 
way  of  this,  —  the  retired  bishop  himself. 
Matters  went  on  smoothly  with  the  bishop 
for  a  few  months.  The  university  year  was 
just  closing  when  he  and  his  arrived  upon 
the  scene,  and  the  class  day  and  commence- 
ment festivities  interested  him  greatly.  Then 


152    THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

early  in  July  his  wife  and  daughter  went  to 
visit  some  relatives  in  western  Massachu- 
setts, and  the  prelate  himself  was  invited  by 
the  Bishop  of  Massachusetts  to  spend  some 
weeks  with  him  at  Bar  Harbour,  and  accepted 
the  invitation.  But  in  October  he  and  his 
family  were  at  home  again,  and  life  in  Cam- 
bridge had  resumed  its  ordinary  aspect.  Sev- 
eral receptions  were  given  in  honour  of  the 
retired  bishop,  and  the  card-basket  in  their 
hall  filled  up  rapidly.  Society  evidently 
meant  to  receive  the  bishop  with  open  arms. 
The  bishop  was  a  large  man,  with  a  voice 
that  could  be  used  to  excellent  effect  in 
reading  the  service  (and  was  so  used  by  him), 
and  was  rather  good  looking,  with  kindly,  if 
slightly  pompous  manners.  But  then  one 
expects  the  wearer  of  lawn  sleeves  to  be 
a  little  different  from  other  men,  and  if  a 
bishop  may  not  think  well  of  himself,  who 
may  ?  And  when  the  Bishop  of  Tuscaloosa 
retired  from  the  active  duties  of  the  episco- 
pate, he  did  not  put  off  his  right  reverend 
manner. 


THE  TRIALS  OF  A  RETIRED  BISHOP        153 

The  bishop's  wife  was  much  younger 
than  her  husband;  a  pretty  gray-haired 
little  woman,  who  did  not  seem  unduly 
elated  over  her  position  as  the  consort  of 
a  bishop.  Their  only  child,  who  was  not 
far  from  twenty,  resembled  her  mother  in 
looks,  but  had  some  of  her  father's  tenacity 
of  purpose,  though  as  yet  it  had  been  exer- 
cised in  small  matters  only.  Both  of  them 
were  pleased  with  their  new  surroundings, 
but  the  elder  woman,  as  the  nature  of  the 
situation  dawned  upon  her,  began  to  wonder 
how  the  head  of  the  household  would  adapt 
himself  to  it. 

The  autumn  was  not  over  before  the 
bishop  began  an  unofficial  visitation  of  the 
various  churches  of  his  faith  in  Cambridge. 
The  advanced  ritual  at  St.  Philip's  filled 
him  with  horror,  and  when  the  rector  came 
to  speak  with  him  after  service,  he  was 
greeted  with  only  the  barest  civility  by  the 
retired  diocesan  of  Tuscaloosa. 

"  I  trust  you  were  pleased  with  our  modest 
service,"  said  the  rector,  a  little  hesitatingly. 


154  THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

"  Sir,"  replied  the  bishop,  in  his  deepest 
tones,  "  I  consider  such  a  service  an  insult 
to  the  Protestant  faith,  a  dishonour  to  the 
Church.  Why,  sir,  Rome  laughs  with  devil- 
ish glee  to  behold  such  bold  adoption  of 
her  mummeries.  Were  I  your  bishop  I 
should  bring  you  to  immediate  trial  for  such 
popish  practices." 

Now  this  last  is  extremely  doubtful,  for 
the  bishop  in  his  own  administration  of 
affairs  had  been  extremely  careful  not  to 
come  to  such  direct  issue  with  rectors  whose 
ways  were  not  his  ways.  But  then  he  had 
seen  nothing  quite  so  advanced  in  his 
diocese.  Having,  so  to  speak,  swept  the 
offending  rector  before  him  with  the  besom 
of  righteous  wrath,  he  turned  to  face  the 
few  people  left  in  the  church. 

"  I  warn  you,"  he  pronounced,  in  his  most 
impressive  manner,  "  I  warn  you  that  the 
path  you  are  now  treading  under  the  guid- 
ance of  a  disguised  Jesuit  is  conducting  you 
straight  to  the  house  of  the  scarlet  woman 
of  Babylon." 


THE  TRIALS  OF  A  RETIRED  BISHOP        155 

And  then  with  a  glow  of  satisfaction  over 
duty  performed  he  strode  from  the  church 
alone,  his  family  not  having  accompanied 
him  on  this  occasion. 

Now  as  this  deed  of  the  bishop's  had  not 
been  done  in  a  corner,  the  news  of  it  was 
very  quickly  wafted  abroad  through  Cam- 
bridge and  Boston.  For  the  next  week  it 
was  the  topic  of  conversation  over  tea-tables 
and  in  clubs,  and  the  newspapers  had  much 
to  say.  The  retired  but  decidedly  militant 
prelate  was  interviewed  by  reporters,  his 
portrait  was  printed,  and  the  freest  com- 
ments upon  his  action  were  made  by  every 
one.  In  some  quarters  his  action  was  stoutly 
defended,  but  as  a  rule  the  judgment  passed 
upon  him  was  decidedly  unflattering.  The 
bishop,  however,  remained  firm  in  the  con- 
viction that  he  had  done  perfectly  right. 
On  the  following  Sunday  he  attended  ser- 
vice at  St.  John's,  as  he  had  done  several 
times  before,  the  simpler  ritual  there  used 
being  much  to  his  mind ;  nor  had  he  heard 
anything  said  there  much  out  of  harmony 


156  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

with  his  habit  of  thought.  On  the  present 
occasion  the  sermon  was  preached  by  one 
of  the  broadest,  most  rationalistic  men  in 
the  Church,  and  the  bishop  grew  red  with 
indignation  as  he  listened.  Once  he  half 
rose  in  his  seat  with  an  indignant  murmur 
of  protest,  but  his  wife  pulled  at  his  coat  in 
season  to  prevent  this.  At  last,  after  what 
seemed  to  him  a  particularly  daring  utter- 
ance of  the  preacher,  the  bishop's  patience 
gave  way  entirely,  and  he  rose  up,  to  the 
crimson  mortification  of  his  wife,  and  the 
secret  delight  of  a  half-dozen  theological 
students  in  the  pew  behind  him.  The 
preacher  had  made  a  brief  pause,  and  the 
bishop  took  advantage  of  this. 

"  When  such  damnable  heresies  as  these 
are  uttered  in  my  presence,"  he  began,  "  I 
should  be  recreant  to  the  faith  I  profess, 
unmindful  of  my  duty  to  my  God,  and  dis- 
loyal to  the  church  in  which  I  have  so  long 
held  office,  if  I  did  not  rise  to  protest  against 
them,"  and  having  thus  delivered  his  soul, 
he  left  the  church.  The  sermon  was  re- 


THE  TRIALS  OF  A  RETIRED  BISHOP    157 

sumed  after  his  exit  and  attentively  listened 
to,  but  after  the  service  the  startling  episode 
of  the  morning  received  its  full  share  of 
comment  in  the  aisles  and  porch.  The 
bishop's  wife  and  daughter,  who  had  not 
followed  him,  were  seen  to  be  almost  in 
tears,  and  to  those  who  greeted  them  the 
bishop's  wife  attempted  to  say  a  few  words  in 
explanation  of  her  husband's  explosion,  but, 
alas !  there  was  not  much  that  could  be  said. 
No  public  notice  was  taken  of  the  matter 
by  the  preacher  or  those  connected  with  the 
Episcopal  Theological  School  to  which  the 
chapel  belonged,  but,  as  before,  the  news- 
papers held  high  carnival  over  the  event,  and 
such  headings  as  "  A  Bishop  on  the  Ram- 
page," "  Tuscaloosa's  Bishop  Breaks  Out 
Again,"  and  "  The  Retired  Bishop  Not 
Sleepy  "  were  displayed  over  the  accounts  of 
the  affair  which  appeared  in  the  Boston 
press.  The  bishop  perused  these  various 
reports  grimly  enough,  but  his  conviction 
of  the  propriety  of  his  course  remained  un- 
changed. 


158  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

On  the  following  Sunday  the  bishop's 
wife  inquired  at  breakfast  where  her  right 
reverend  consort  meant  to  attend  church. 

"  I  shall  go  to  St.  James's,"  answered  the 
bishop,  severely. 

"  I  think,  if  you  don't  mind,  William,"  said 
his  wife,  "Clara  and  I  will  go  to  church 
nearer  home  this  morning." 

To  this  there  was  no  reply.  The  bishop 
knew  that  his  wife  and  daughter  disapproved 
of  his  course,  and  distrusted  what  he  might 
be  led  to  do  or  say  in  the  future.  This  was 
not  a  pleasant  thought  for  him,  but  he  had 
no  intention  of  being  influenced  by  their 
opinions  in  matters  where  he  must  neces- 
sarily be  the  best  judge  of  what  he  ought  to 
do.  An  hour  or  so  later  the  bishop,  un- 
accompanied, set  out  from  his  house,  and 
four  young  men,  who  had  been  sauntering 
along  the  street  in  that  vicinity,  followed 
him  at  a  respectful  distance.  They  were 
reporters  for  as  many  Boston  papers,  and 
had  been  waiting  his  appearance  for  a  half- 
hour.  But  their  hopes  of  witnessing  another 


THE  TRIALS  OF  A  RETIRED  BISHOP        159 

outbreak  on  the  part  of  the  retired  prelate  of 
Tuscaloosa  were  unfulfilled  on  this  occasion. 
Although  the  bishop  did  not  find  the  service 
at  St.  James's  in  all  respects  to  his  mind, 
yet  there  was  nothing  to  which  he  could 
take  serious  exception,  and  he  remained  qui- 
escent, not  only  to  the  disappointment  of 
the  four  reporters,  but  to  that  of  a  number 
of  theological  students  and  Harvard  men, 
who  had  followed  him  thither,  but  much  to 
the  relief  of  the  rector,  who  had  seen  the 
bishop  very  soon  after  the  service  had  begun. 
However,  the  reporters  were  not  to  be  wholly 
balked,  and  the  next  day's  papers  contained 
such  headings  as  "  Cambridge's  Quiet  Sun- 
day," "  The  Bishop  Holds  his  Tongue,"  and 
"  No  Fight  this  Time,"  over  detailed  ac- 
counts of  his  attendance  at  St.  James's 
Church.  On  the  following  Sunday  he  at- 
tended church  at  St.  Peter's  and  found 
things  there  not  at  all  to  his  mind,  though 
he  refrained  from  protest  by  word  of  mouth, 
but  at  last  was  obliged  to  protest  his  non- 
concurrence  in  all  that  he  saw  and  heard  by 


i6o  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

rising  and  walking  majestically  out  of  the 
church.  And  this  action  of  his  was  very 
soon  known  to  all. 

The  young  rector  of  Christ  Church,  who 
had  watched  the  course  of  the  bishop  with 
a  good  deal  of  interest,  and  did  not  mean,  if 
possible,  to  have  a  wrathful  bishop  striding 
out  of  his  church  if  it  could  be  prevented, 
concluded  to  forestall  any  such  move  by 
inviting  the  Bishop  of  Tuscaloosa  to  preach 
for  him  on  the  following  Sunday,  and  to  this 
the  retired  prelate  readily  consented.  The 
public  announcement  of  this  fact  was  quite 
sufficient  to  fill  the  ancient  church  to  over- 
flowing, and  the  rector,  as  he  gazed  upon 
crowded  pews  and  aisles,  saw  no  way  of 
escape  for  his  captive  bishop  save  by  the 
windows. 

The  bishop  took  part  in  the  service  so 
far  as  to  pronounce  the  absolution  and  to 
read  the  lessons,  and  his  effective  reading 
created  a  very  favourable  impression ;  but  his 
sermon  on  "  The  Church's  Deadliest  Foe," 
by  which  phrase  he  was  understood  to  mean 


THE  TRIALS  OF  A  RETIRED  BISHOP        l6l 

"  Romanism,"  as  shown  in  the  adoption  of 
"  ceremonies  such  as  we  have  witnessed  in 
this  church  to-day,"  produced  a  sensation, 
as  was  natural.  The  rector  was  secretly 
amused,  and  others  admired  the  curious 
courage  of  the  bishop,  but  there  were  still 
others  whose  indignation  got  the  better  of 
their  judgment,  and  these  struggled  to  get 
out  of  hearing  of  the  preacher,  and  in  their 
progress  to  the  door  created  more  disturb- 
ance than  the  bishop's  own  exit  at  St.  John's 
or  St.  Peter's  had  done.  And  again  the 
newspapers  made  merry,  and  again  the  judi- 
cious grieved.  Again  the  bishop's  wife  and 
daughter  were  brought  low  in  humiliation, 
and  again  the  bishop  thanked  God  that  he 
had  not  failed  to  bear  witness  to  the  truth. 

By  this  time  it  began  to  be  generally 
acknowledged  that  the  large  body  of  retired 
clergy  of  various  faiths  in  Cambridge  had 
received  an  accession  to  their  number  whose 
personality  was  likely  to  make  his  retire- 
ment anything  but  a  serene  seclusion,  and 
the  bishop's  wife  realised  that  the  trials  of 


1 62  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

a  Southern  diocese  were  but  as  the  light 
afflictions  of  a  moment  compared  to  those 
which  her  husband's  unfortunate  choice  of 
Cambridge  as  a  home  were  likely  to  doom 
him  to.  To  a  man  of  his  temperament  and 
narrow  thought,  no  other  place  could  have 
been  less  fitted.  He  had  chosen  it  mainly 
because  of  the  memory  of  his  glimpse  of  it 
long  years  before,  and  because  he  knew  of 
its  advantages  in  the  way  of  libraries  there 
and  in  Boston.  But  actual  knowledge  of  it 
he  had  had  none.  Engrossed  in  his  own 
administration  of  diocesan  affairs,  he  had 
paid  little  attention  to  general  matters  out- 
side of  it.  He  knew  that  Cambridge  was  a 
university  town,  but  of  the  current  of  thought 
which  probably  flowed  through  it  he  had 
known  absolutely  nothing.  But  now,  after 
his  own  short  career  there  had  brought  him 
so  prominently  before  the  public,  he  was  in 
a  fair  way  to  become  intimately  acquainted 
with  the  trend  of  that  same  current. 

The  bishop's  next  move  was  awaited  by 
Cambridge  with  great   interest,  and  much 


THE  TRIALS  OF  A  RETIRED  BISHOP        1 63 

speculation  as  to  what  it  would  be  was 
indulged  in.  Now  the  retired  Bishop  of 
Tuscaloosa,  although  he  had  very  well  de- 
fined views  as  to  the  importance  of  the 
episcopate  and  the  necessity  of  bishops,  had, 
in  his  own  diocese,  maintained  very  friendly 
relations  with  the  non-liturgical  churches 
therein,  and  had  several  times  attended  a 
service  in  a  Presbyterian  church  without 
doing  violence  to  his  churchmanship  in  the 
least.  Remembering  this,  it  occurred  to 
him,  on  the  Sunday  after  his  sermon  at 
Christ  Church,  to  bend  his  steps  toward  the 
Congregational  church,  in  the  shadow  of 
the  Washington  elm.  Neither  ritualism 
nor  rationalism  would  vex  him  in  that 
temple,  he  thought.  He  went  there  early, 
his  steps  attended,  although  he  did  not  know 
it,  by  the  usual  squad  of  reporters.  The 
Congregational  clergyman,  who  had  met 
the  bishop  some  weeks  previously,  was  in 
the  porch  when  the  prelate  entered,  and  at 
once  invited  him  to  sit  in  the  pulpit  alcove 
and  take  part  in  the  service.  To  this  the 


164  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

bishop  consented  so  far  as  to  say  that  he 
would  read  the  Scripture  lesson  and  pro- 
nounce the  benediction.  Not  without  some 
inward  discomfort  had  the  minister  perceived 
the  bishop  entering  his  church.  He  was 
very  sure  that  the  sermon  he  had  expected 
to  preach  on  that  morning  would  not  be  at 
all  to  the  bishop's  liking,  and  he  dreaded  an 
outburst  of  protest  from  the  bishop,  feeling 
sure  that  if  that  prelate  could  not  refrain 
from  creating  a  disturbance  in  a  church  of 
his  own  faith,  he  certainly  would  have  no 
scruple  in  making  a  scene  in  what  he  would 
probably  style  a  "  meeting-house."  He  recog- 
nised the  reporters  who  had  dogged  the 
bishop's  heels,  and  he  thought  dismally  of 
the  prospect  in  store.  No,  it  would  never 
do,  and  he  hastily  sent  to  the  parsonage  for 
another  sermon,  telling  the  sexton  where  it 
would  be  found.  The  sexton  returned  in 
season  with  the  sermon,  and  the  minister, 
somewhat  embarrassed  by  the  presence  of 
his  unlooked-for  colleague  and  the  sense  of 
a  great  danger  escaped,  failed  to  perceive 


THE  TRIALS  OF  A  RETIRED  BISHOP         165 

that  the  sermon  brought  him  was  the  one 
he  had  preached  to  his  congregation  the 
previous  Sunday.  Nor  did  he  become  aware 
of  the  fact  till  he  was  well  into  the  midst  of 
his  discourse,  and  suddenly  detected  a  pecul- 
iar expression  in  the  faces  before  him.  Re- 
treat was  now  too  late,  but  there  was  at  least 
nothing  in  the  sermon  to  rouse  the  militant 
bishop  behind  him,  and  indeed  that  indi- 
vidual took  occasion  when  the  service  was 
ended  to  praise  the  discourse  to  which  he 
had  just  listened. 

Comment  at  many  dinner-tables  on  that 
Sunday  was  divided  between  discussion  of 
the  clergyman's  blunder  and  praise  of  the 
bishop's  supposed  liberality.  Tuscaloosa's 
retired  bishop  rose  in  favour  immediately, 
so  far  as  Congregationalists  were  concerned. 
But  the  reporters  had  not  been  idle,  and  the 
next  morning's  papers  contained  such  head- 
lines as,  "  The  Bishop  Hobnobs  with  the 
Congos,"  and  "  The  Episcopal  Lion  Lies 
Down  with  the  Puritan  Lamb."  After  this 
the  bishop  found  a  church  to  his  mind  in 


1 66  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

Boston,  and  attended  there  with  more  or 
less  regularity,  and  for  a  time  the  newspapers 
turned  their  attention  in  other  directions. 

Autumn  passed  suddenly  into  winter  that 
year,  and  the  bishop,  walking  abroad  after 
the  first  snowfall,  slipped  at  one  of  the  street 
crossings,  and  was  only  saved  from  a  severe 
fall  by  the  quickness  of  a  young  man  near, 
who  caught  him  by  the  arm  just  in  time. 
As  it  was,  the  bishop  sustained  a  slight 
sprain,  and  the  young  man,  calling  a  cab, 
accompanied  him  to  his  home.  The  bishop, 
who  was  a  warm-hearted,  effusive  person, 
was  voluble  in  his  thanks,  insisted  on  pre- 
senting him  to  his  wife  and  daughter,  and 
begged  him  to  consider  himself  welcome  at 
the  episcopal  residence  at  all  times.  And 
the  young  man,  flattered  by  the  overflowing 
gratitude  of  the  bishop,  supplemented  by 
that  of  the  family,  did  become  a  frequent 
guest  at  the  house  thereafter,  and  in  the 
course  of  these  visits  discovered  that  the 
bishop's  daughter  was  a  very  interesting,  not 
to  say  fascinating,  person.  The  bishop,  for 


THE  TRIALS  OF  A  RETIRED  BISHOP        167 

t 

his  part,  found  the  young  man,  whose  name 
was  Milner,  a  very  attractive,  winsome  young 
fellow,  and  took  much  pleasure  in  hearing 
the  details  of  university  life  which  came  to 
him  by  way  of  Milner,  whom  he  supposed 
to  be  a  Harvard  student.  As  Milner  had 
spoken  in  his  hearing  of  having  attended 
some  service  at  St.  John's,  he  hastily  as- 
sumed that  the  young  man  was  a  Church- 
man, and  contented  himself  with  expressing 
the  hope  that  his  young  friend  would  not  be 
led  away  by  any  strange  doctrine  which  he 
might  chance  to  hear  there.  But  as  the 
bishop's  daughter  came  into  the  room  at 
the  moment,  the  prelate's  hope  was  expressed 
to  unheeding  ears. 

Early  in  life  the  bishop  had  taken  a  strong 
stand  against  intemperance,  and  when,  in 
December,  the  city  of  Cambridge  waxed 
very  much  in  earnest  over  the  question  of 
license  or  no  license,  the  bishop  was  exer- 
cised likewise.  A  public  meeting  in  favour 
of  no  license  was  to  be  held  in  a  large 
hall,  and  to  be  addressed  by  the  clergy 


1 68  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

* 
of  various  denominations,  and  the  retired 

bishop,  whose  views  on  the  subject  were 
known  to  some  in  the  community,  was  in- 
vited to  be  present  on  the  platform.  As  the 
clergymen  assembled  in  the  anteroom  just 
before  the  meeting  opened,  the  bishop  was 
introduced  by  the  Congregational  minister, 
whose  pulpit  he  had  shared  on  one  occasion, 
to  a  Roman  Catholic  priest,  who  was  known 
as  an  enthusiastic  and  influential  temperance 
reformer.  Now  the  bishop  had  been  heard 
to  declare,  in  the  course  of  his  career,  that 
he  never  would  clasp  the  hand  of  a  popish 
priest,  and  he  remembered  this  vow  of  his 
after  he  had  shaken  hands  with  the  priest 
on  this  occasion,  for  he  caught  only  a  part 
of  the  introduction,  and  supposed  him  from 
his  dress  to  be  some  High  Church  clergy- 
man. When  from  the  further  remarks  of 
the  introducer  he  learned  more  of  his  new 
acquaintance,  and  realised  what  he  had  done, 
he  was  extremely  unhappy,  and  was  prepar- 
ing to  stiffen  into  an  attitude  of  stern  and 
silent  disapproval,  when  the  priest's  atten- 


THE  TRIALS  OF  A  RETIRED  BISHOP        169 

tion  was  fortunately  turned  elsewhere.  He 
was  much  dismayed  to  find  himself  seated,  a 
few  moments  later,  next  to  the  priest  on  the 
platform,  and  he  edged  away  as  far  as  pos- 
sible from  his  unwelcome  neighbour.  The 
priest  failed  to  detect  the  discomfort  his 
presence  was  causing  the  heretic  bishop 
beside  him ;  but  some  among  the  audience, 
who  knew  the  prelate's  feelings  respecting 
"Jesuitical  priests,"  were  privately  much 
entertained  when  they  observed  his  present 
predicament.  Yet  by  and  by,  when  the  priest 
spoke  some  vigorous  words  which  exactly 
coincided  with  the  bishop's  own  views  upon 
the  matter  in  hand,  the  latter  found  himself 
applauding,  but  stopped  abruptly  when  he 
recollected  that  a  papist  was  speaking.  "  He 
has  some  Jesuitical  purpose  beneath  it  all," 
said  Tuscaloosa's  former  diocesan  to  him- 
self. 

On  the  other  side  of  him  sat  a  benevolent- 
looking  clergyman,  much  older  than  him- 
self, whom  he  did  not  know,  but  with  whom 
he  exchanged  a  word  now  and  then  in  the 


170  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

pauses  of  the  meeting,  and  at  its  close  the 
elder  man  expressed  his  pleasure  at  making 
the  acquaintance  of  the  bishop,  and  added 
that  he  hoped  soon  to  do  himself  the  honour 
of  calling  upon  him.  And  in  reply,  the 
bishop,  in  his  most  gracious  manner,  trusted 
that  the  event  would  indeed  not  long  be 
delayed. 

But  when  a  little  later  he  learned  the 
name  of  his  new  clerical  acquaintance,  he 
returned  home  with  a  very  clouded  brow, 
for  the  benevolent-looking  person  who  had 
sat  beside  him  was  none  other  than  a  promi- 
nent Unitarian  minister  of  the  city.  His 
slumbers  were  decidedly  unquiet  ones  that 
night,  for  the  thought  that  he  had  sat  for  a 
whole  evening  in  the  public  view  between 
the  representatives  of  the  two  deadliest  foes 
of  the  Church,  Romanism  and  Socinianism, 
was  not  calculated  to  soothe  him.  What  a 
position  for  a  defender  of  the  faith  to  have 
been  placed  in ! 

Now  by  this  time  the  bishop  was  fully 
aware  of  the  status  of  Unitarianism  in  his 


THE  TRIALS  OF  A  RETIRED  BISHOP        Ijl 

present  locality,  and  knew,  too,  that  many  of 
the  people  whom  he  met  in  ordinary  life 
were  what  he  termed  Socinians,  but,  while 
he  deeply  regretted  that  such  estimable  ap- 
pearing people  should  have  fallen  into  such 
deadly  error,  he  did  not  include  them  in  his 
circle  of  disapproval  any  more  than  he  did 
the  Roman  Catholic  laity  whom  he  had 
happened  to  know.  No,  it  was  only  the 
disseminators  of  false  doctrines,  the  Socinian 
preachers  and  the  popish  priests,  whom  he 
would  place  under  the  ban.  And  holding 
such  uncompromising  views  as  he  felt  it  his 
serious  duty  to  hold,  he  had,  nevertheless, 
grasped  the  hand  of  a  Romish  priest,  and 
was  about  to  receive  a  call  from  a  Socinian 
preacher!  It  is  needless  to  say  that  the 
Bishop  of  Tuscaloosa  was  very  uncomfort- 
able about  this  time,  and  would  have  been 
glad  to  relieve  his  feelings  by  publicly  read- 
ing a  commination  service  directed  wholly  at 
Socinians  and  Jesuits.  But  no  such  means 
of  relief  was  open  to  him,  and  he  bore  his 
trials  as  best  he  could,  which  was  not  very 


172  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

well,  and  his  wife  and  daughter  bore  theirs 
likewise,  for  the  retired  bishop  did  not  pro- 
pose to  suffer  alone  and  in  silence. 

"  I  never  in  the  world  can  see  him  when 
he  calls,"  cried  the  perplexed  prelate. 

"What  excuse  can  you  offer,  father?" 
inquired  Clara. 

"I  can  say  that  my  principles  will  not 
allow  me  to  receive  one  whose  mission  in 
life  is  the  destroying  of  souls,"  was  the 
bishop's  vigorous  reply  to  this. 

"  William !  "  said  the  bishop's  wife,  quickly. 
The  bishop  stared  at  his  helpmate  in  dis- 
may. In  all  his  knowledge  of  her  she  had 
never  spoken  with  just  that  ring  of  exaspera- 
tion in  her  voice.  But  if  he  had  borne  much, 
so  had  she,  and  her  husband  had  been  the 
cause  of  it  all.  If  they  were  ever  to  live  in 
this  home  of  theirs  with  any  degree  of  com- 
fort, if  they  were  ever  to  mingle  in  society 
here,  she  must  assert  herself,  and  she  was 
doing  it  now. 

"William,"  she  repeated,  "you  will  not 
send  any  such  insolent  message  to  that 


THE  TRIALS  OF  A  RETIRED  BISHOP        173 

Unitarian  clergyman  when  he  calls  upon 
you.  I  approve  of  his  doctrines  no  more 
than  you,  but  he  is  a  gentleman,  and  when 
I  married  you  I  thought  you  were  one  also." 

The  bishop  could  only  gasp  in  helpless 
fashion,  and  his  wife  went  on,  remorselessly : 

"  I  do  not  question  your  sincerity  in  all 
that  you  have  done  since  you  came  here, 
but  I  do  doubt  your  common  sense,  and 
what  you  now  propose  to  do  will  make  you 
the  scorn  and  contempt  of  every  gentleman 
you  know.  I  used  to  be  proud  of  you,  Wil- 
liam, but  since  we  came  here  you  have  done 
little  for  me  to  be  proud  of  for  your  sake." 

And  here  the  speaker  quite  broke  down 
in  her  eloquence,  and  left  the  room  in  tears. 
Clara  remained  just  long  enough  to  hurl  one 
indignant  arrow  at  her  father,  who  sat  in 
his  chair  quite  stunned  by  what  he  had  just 
heard : 

"  It's  every  word  true,  and  you  know  it  is, 
father,"  and  then  she,  too,  disappeared. 

Left  quite  to  himself,  the  bishop  leaned  his 
head  upon  his  hand,  and  proceeded  to  do 


1 74  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

very  some  hard  thinking.  It  was  no  prim- 
rose path  in  which  he  had  been  walking  since 
he  came  to  Massachusetts.  It  was  a  steep 
and  thorny  way,  rather,  and  he  began  to  be 
doubtful  whither  it  would  lead  him.  He  did 
not  regret  having  pursued  the  course  which 
he  had  taken,  he  told  himself.  It  had  been 
forced  upon  him  by  circumstances,  and  he 
should  count  himself  an  unworthy  soldier  of 
Christ  if  he  had  remained  inactive  in  the 
presence  of  the  Church's  foes.  But  he  did 
regret  that  his  wife  should  have  been  made 
to  suffer.  His  experiences  had  been  un- 
pleasant, but  hers,  he  saw  now,  had  been  far 
worse.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  to  leave 
Cambridge,  and  find  a  home  elsewhere. 
Retreat  was  something  he  did  not  contem- 
plate, but  he  had  protested  strenuously  so 
far  against  what  he  deemed  evil.  His  atti- 
tude was  now  well  known  to  the  community. 
Was  it  needful  for  him  to  continue  active 
protestation  against  Socinianism  and  po- 
pery ?  He  could  not  be  accused  of  running 
away  from  these  enemies  of  a  pure  faith, 


THE  TRIALS  OF  A  RETIRED  BISHOP        175 

and,  after  much  questioning  with  himself, 
he  finally  resolved  to  confine  himself  here- 
after to  private  admonition  and  warning. 

He  had  reached  this  point  in  his  medita- 
tions, when  the  housemaid  appeared  in  his 
study  with  the  card  of  the  Unitarian  minis- 
ter. He  held  the  card  so  long  in  his  hand, 
and  appeared  so  agitated,  that  the  maid  was 
alarmed. 

"  Shall  I  tell  him  you  are  unwell  and  beg 
to  be  excused  ? "  she  asked. 

He  still  hesitated.  Then,  with  a  visible 
effort  to  command  his  voice,  he  answered, 
"  No,  you  may  show  him  into  the  study." 

The  bishop's  wife  had  conquered. 

The  visitor  remained  for  nearly  an  hour,  and 
found  the  bishop  much  better  company  than 
he  had  expected  to  do.  They  even  discovered 
that  a  certain  old  friend  of  one  was  a  friend 
of  the  other,  and  this  helped  to  draw  them 
together.  But  they  carefully  avoided  possi- 
ble points  of  controversy.  The  bishop's  wife 
came  into  the  study  when  the  caller  had 
departed. 


176  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

"  My  dear,"  said  her  husband,  "  I  found 
the  gentleman  most  entertaining  and  agree- 
able, and  I  have  asked  him  to  dine  with  us 
next  Tuesday." 

Then  the  bishop's  wife  saw  the  extent  of 
her  victory,  and  knew  that  her  husband  had 
made  as  near  an  approach  to  a  confession  of 
his  mistake  as  an  elderly  and  slightly  hot- 
headed bishop  could  be  expected  to  make. 
She  said  nothing,  but  came  and  stood  beside 
his  chair  for  a  moment,  and  then  suddenly 
stooped  and  kissed  him. 

"  Why,  my  dear !  "  said  the  bishop,  gently. 

As  the  winter  slipped  by,  and  people  be- 
gan to  forget  or  lose  sight  of  the  peculiarities 
of  the  retired  bishop,  he  and  his  family  saw 
much  of  their  neighbours,  and  mingled  more 
or  less  in  Cambridge  and  Boston  society. 
He  was  still  regarded  by  some  persons  as 
likely  to  burst  forth  in  denunciations  of  So- 
cinianism  and  popery  at  any  moment,  but  he 
had  kept  close  watch  upon  himself,  and  their 
expectations  had  not  been  gratified.  Mean- 
while, his  daughter  had  drawn  about  her  a 


THE  TRIALS  OF  A  RETIRED  BISHOP        177 

wide  circle  of  acquaintance,  and  the  number 
of  Harvard  students  who  lifted  their  hats  to 
her  in  the  street  was  more  than  she  could 
have  told.  Some  of  them  were  in  the  habit 
of  calling  more  or  less  regularly  at  the 
bishop's,  but,  so  far  as  could  be  seen,  Milner 
was  the  one  to  whom  the  greatest  favour 
was  shown.  One  other,  however,  appeared 
to  be  not  far  behind  in  the  running,  a  tall, 
athletic-looking  fellow,  named  Emerson. 

One  evening,  soon  after  Easter,  Clara 
came  into  the  study  where  her  father  sat 
writing  alone. 

"  I  have  had  an  offer  of  marriage,  father," 
she  began,  abruptly. 

The  bishop's  pen  dropped  from  his  hand. 

"  From  whom,  my  daughter  ?  "  he  inquired, 
after  his  shock  of  surprise  was  over. 

"  From  Mr.  Emerson." 

The  bishop  looked  gravely  pompous. 

"  I  know  nothing  of  the  man,"  he  said, 
"  beyond  the  fact  that  he  has  agreeable  man- 
ners, and  is  said  to  be  wealthy.  Are  you 
fond  of  him,  Clara?"  he  went  on,  wishing  to 


1 78  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

know  his  daughter's  state  of  mind  before 
saying  anything  definitely. 

"  I  like  him  very  much,"  was  the  response. 

"  But,  this  is  a  serious  matter,  Clara.  Is 
he  a  religious  young  man,  do  you  know,  my 
daughter?" 

"  He  is  a  Roman  Catholic,"  answered 
Clara.  The  bishop  bounded  from  his  chair 
on  hearing  this. 

"  A  papist,  and  a  Jesuit ! "  he  burst  forth. 
"  And  you  tell  me  you  love  him.  A  child 
of  mine  marry  a  papist!  I  would  sooner 
see  you  struck  dead  at  my  feet." 

"  But  I  didn't  tell  you  I  loved  him,  father. 
I  said  I  liked  him  very  much,  and  so  I  do. 
But  I  don't  love  him,  and  I  told  him  this, 
and  said  I  could  not  marry  him,  an  hour 
ago,"  and  then,  before  the  Bishop  of  Tusca- 
loosa  could  recover  from  the  effect  of  this 
statement,  she  had  fled. 

"  But  if  I  had  loved  him,  nothing  would 
have  prevented  my  marrying  him,  at  last," 
she  said  to  herself,  in  her  own  room,  as 
she  recalled  her  father's  looks  of  horror. 


THE  TRIALS  OF  A  RETIRED  BISHOP        1 79 

"  I  don't  believe  in  such  awful  prejudices 
against  people  on  account  of  their  religion." 

The  bishop  did  not  at  all  relish  his 
daughter's  trifling  thus  with  his  feelings,  but 
he  did  not  allude  to  the  episode,  and  Mr. 
Emerson  came  to  the  house  no  more. 
Young  Milner,  however,  continued  to  call 
as  frequently  as  ever,  and  on  one  occasion 
he  and  the  bishop  chanced  to  be  alone  in 
the  prelate's  study.  There  had  been  a  lull 
in  the  conversation  which  the  younger  man 
was  the  first  to  disturb. 

"  I  suppose,  sir,  I  ought  to  have  spoken 
with  you  on  a  certain  matter  before  now, 
but,  the  fact  is,  it  happened  almost  before 
we  knew,  and  —  " 

"  What  happened  ?  I  don't  know  what  you 
are  talking  about,"  interrupted  the  bishop. 

"  The  engagement.  Clara's  and  mine,  I 
mean,"  said  the  other,  in  an  embarrassed 
fashion. 

Now  the  bishop  liked  young  Milner  ex- 
ceedingly, and  though  he  did  not  like  to 
know  that  an  engagement  had  been  entered 


i8o  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

into  before  he  had  been  consulted  in  regard 
to  it,  he  was  not  going  to  say  much  in  the 
way  of  disapproval  until  he  had  time  to 
think  over  the  matter,  if  disapproval  should 
then  be  necessary.  But  he  was  frowning 
slightly  as  Milner  spoke  again. 

"  Clara  tells  me  that  you  suppose  me  to 
be  a  Churchman,"  said  the  young  man. 

"  I  certainly  have  supposed  so,"  said  the 
bishop. 

"  I  had  no  intention  of  deceiving  you," 
resumed  the  other.  "  I  had  thought,  till  to- 
day, that  you  knew  me  to  be  a  student  at 
the  Divinity  School." 

"Does  that  mean  that  you  are  a  Socin- 
ian  ? "  exclaimed  the  bishop,  with  rising 
horror. 

"  I  am  a  radical  Unitarian,"  said  Milner, 
quietly. 


A  NIGHT  WITH  WILLIAM  OF 
WYKEHAM 


A  NIGHT  WITH  WILLIAM  OF 
WYKEHAM 

EVEN-SONG  at  Winchester  Cathedral 
was  over.  The  choir-boys  and  vicars 
choral  had  passed  slowly  out  of  the  choir, 
followed  in  due  order  by  the  precentor  and 
the  two  minor  canons,  and  after  these  came 
the  canon  in  residence  and  the  dean,  who 
stepped  down  from  their  red-curtained  stalls 
simultaneously.  Three  of  the  small  con- 
gregation lingered  to  look  about  them  a 
little  longer  at  the  strange  mortuary  chests 
on  the  choir-screens,  at  Prior  Silkstede's 
carved  pulpit,  and  at  the  low  tomb  below 
the  lectern,  which  no  one  in  the  light  of 
present  knowledge  quite  dares  to  call  that 
of  William  Rufus,  as  was  once  the  custom. 
They  were  strangers  in  Winchester;  and 
Bond,  the  most  good-natured  of  the  four 
183 


184  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

vergers,  waited  for  them  at  the  choir  en- 
trance till  his  patience  was  exhausted,  and 
he  felt  constrained  to  tell  them,  in  gentle 
tones,  that  it  was  customary  to  close  the 
choir  immediately  after  service.  If  they 
wished  to  make  the  round  of  the  cathedral 
they  might  do  so  on  the  morrow,  he  sug- 
gested, as  there  would  be  but  little  present 
opportunity  for  so  doing  before  it  would  be 
time  to  close  the  doors  for  the  night. 

The  three  persons  addressed  left  him  to 
infer  that  they  would  return  the  next  day, 
and  then  passed  slowly  down  the  long  nave 
to  the  door  at  the  end  of  the  north  aisle. 
There,  having  nothing  more  in  common 
than  the  fact  of  being  in  Winchester  for  the 
first  time,  they  separated,  one  of  them  going 
by  the  lime  walk  to  the  High  Street,  another 
toward  the  archway  under  the  Tower  of  St. 
Maurice's,  and  the  third,  a  young  man  of 
perhaps  twenty-five,  passing  into  the  Close 
by  way  of  the  Slype.  As  they  left  him,  the 
verger  was  about  locking  the  ornamental 
iron  gates  of  the  choir,  when  his  attention 


A  NIGHT  WITH  WILLIAM  OF  WYKEHAM    185 

was  called  elsewhere  by  the  dean,  who  had 
now  doffed  his  surplice  and  hood  and  desired 
him  to  go  on  some  errand  to  the  cathedral 
library.  On  his  return  to  the  dean,  who  was 
awaiting  him  in  the  chapter-room,  the  verger 
had  quite  forgotten  the  gates,  and  unlocked 
they  still  remained  a  half-hour  later  when  he 
left  the  building  for  the  night. 

Meanwhile,  the  young  man,  after  wander- 
ing about  the  Cathedral  Close  and  pausing 
to  admire  the  three  sharply  pointed  arches 
of  the  deanery  entrance,  had  slowly  retraced 
his  steps  and  had  passed  into  the  "dark 
cloister  "  under  the  library  at  the  end  of  the 
south  transept.  Twilight  was  rapidly  com- 
ing on,  but  he  could  just  perceive  that  a 
small  door  leading  into  the  transept  stood 
open,  and  the  impulse  seized  him  to  enter. 
He  found  himself,  on  doing  so,  in  a  gloomy 
passageway,  from  which  a  stone  stair  led  up 
to  the  library,  and  another  open  door  into 
the  transept  itself.  He  had  hardly  time  to 
perceive  this  before  he  heard  the  voices 
of  the  dean  and  the  verger,  who  were  leaving 


1 86  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

the  chapter-room.  He  hastily  sprang  up 
the  stair,  and  the  dean  passed  out  to  the 
"  dark  cloister  "  and  on  to  the  deanery,  un- 
aware of  the  presence  of  a  stranger  close  at 
hand.  A  moment  later  one  of  the  choir- 
boys came  hurriedly  through  the  doorway 
and  entered  the  transept.  He  had  left  some 
of  his  school  exercises  in  his  anthem-book, 
and  had  returned  in  search  of  them.  Bond, 
who  was  busied  at  the  end  of  the  nave  just 
then,  did  not  observe  the  small  figure,  which, 
indeed,  did  not  court  observation,  and  which, 
on  discovering  that  the  choir  gates  were 
unlocked,  congratulated  itself  that  its  retreat 
might  be  made  unnoticed.  The  young  man 
was  about  to  follow  in  the  direction  the  boy 
had  taken  when  the  verger  came  in  sight, 
passed  out  into  the  "dark  cloister,"  and 
locked  the  door  behind  him. 

The  echo  of  the  closing  door  reached  the 
ear  of  the  small  occupant  of  the  choir,  and 
he  rushed  breathlessly  through  the  transept 
to  the  door,  only  to  find  that  it  was  locked. 
Then,  running  back,  he  tried  the  door  in 


A  NIGHT  WITH  WILLIAM  OF  WYKEHAM    187 

the  south  aisle,  with  no  better  results.  From 
there  he  went  to  the  three  doors  in  the  west 
end  of  the  cathedral,  but  Bond  had  locked 
these  as  carefully  as  the  others.  Beside  the 
third  of  these  the  boy  waited  a  long  time, 
hoping  that  he  might  hear  footsteps  along 
the  path  without,  and  then  by  calling  aloud 
attract  the  attention  of  passers-by. 

The  young  man,  not  hearing  the  boy 
return,  supposed  him  to  have  left  by  another 
way,  and,  feeling  himself  entirely  alone,  en- 
tered the  transept,  and,  going  up  the  steps 
into  the  choir  aisle,  he  found  the  south  or 
throne  door  of  the  choir  partly  ajar.  Push- 
ing this  open  he  went  into  the  choir,  and, 
after  roaming  at  will  in  the  fast-gathering 
gloom,  he  seated  himself  upon  the  bishop's 
throne  and  leaned  back  against  the  velvet 
hangings.  By  this  time  it  had  grown  very 
dark  in  the  cathedral,  and  only  a  few  rays  of 
light  struggled  in  through  the  clerestory 
windows.  The  young  man  realised  that  he 
was  locked  in  and  must  spend  the  night  in 
this  place,  but  the  thought  did  not  disturb 


1 88  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

him.  In  fact,  it  was  what  he  had  secretly 
hoped  for.  This  was  the  first  cathedral  he 
had  seen,  and  he  wanted  to  experience  all 
the  emotions  possible  in  regard  to  it. 

He  had  sat  there  for  an  hour,  perhaps, 
when  far  off  he  heard  the  sound  of  slow 
footsteps  and  then  sobs  as  of  some  one  in 
distress.  The  cathedral  was  utterly  dark 
now,  and  he  could  not  even  see  the  gleam 
of  the  great  white  reredos  on  which  the  light 
had  lingered  longest.  In  spite  of  himself, 
the  young  man  could  not  help  a  little  shiver 
of  fear.  The  footsteps  wandered  about  aim- 
lessly in  the  darkness;  but  they  were  cer- 
tainly coming  nearer,  and  there  was  no 
mistaking  the  sobs.  In  reality  the  listener 
heard  only  the  small  choir-boy,  who,  despair- 
ing of  hearing  any  sounds  from  the  outside 
world  through  the  massive  door,  and  sadly 
frightened  at  being  left  alone  in  the  dark- 
ness, was  stumbling  along  the  nave,  intend- 
ing to  curl  himself  up  in  the  dean's  stall  in 
the  choir,  behind  the  red  curtains.  But  this 
the  young  man  could  not  know,  and  he 


A  NIGHT  WITH  WILLIAM  OF  WYKEHAM     189 

almost  wished  himself  outside  of  the  cathe- 
dral. Up  the  steps  to  the  choir  came  the 
groping  feet,  then  the  gates  opened  and 
closed  with  a  little  clang  that  sent  a  score 
of  faint  echoes  flying  down  the  stone  vault- 
ing of  the  nave. 

As  the  boy  clambered  up  into  the  dean's 
stall  and  drew  the  curtains  about  him,  a 
vague  sense  of  protection  came  to  him  from 
their  folds ;  his  sobs  ceased,  and  before  long 
he  fell  asleep.  Intently  expectant  of  he 
knew  not  what,  the  young  man  listened  till 
all  these  sounds  had  died  away,  and,  now 
that  they  were  ended,  he  was  disappointed 
that  nothing  of  note  seemed  to  follow  them. 
He  wondered  if  his  imagination  had  not 
deceived  him,  and,  as  the  only  sounds  that 
succeeded  were  the  quarter  chimes  from  the 
tower  far  above  him,  he  was  sure  his  ears 
had  played  him  false,  and  began  to  think 
that  a  night  spent  in  an  English  cathedral 
would  prove  no  more  exciting  than  one 
passed  in  the  old  meeting-house  of  his  native 
town  in  America.  He  had  pictured  to  him- 


IQO    THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

self  a  throng  of  famous  historic  phantoms, 
headed  by  Cnut  and  Edward  the  Confessor, 
with  William  Rufus,  William  of  Wykeham, 
the  fierce  Gardiner,  and  many  more  in  their 
train,  ending,  perhaps,  with  Izaak  Walton 
and  Jane  Austen,  sweeping  noiselessly  along 
through  choir  and  nave  in  impressive  silence, 
and  here  was  nothing  of  the  kind.  Perhaps 
his  fancy  might  have  summoned  up  all 
these  famous  ones  had  it  been  light  enough 
to  have  seen  any  object,  even  dimly ;  but  all 
about  him  was  now  black  darkness,  and  so, 
after  a  time,  for  the  bishop's  throne  was  very 
comfortable,  his  romantic  desires  became 
confused  and  merged  in  sleep. 

Hours  after,  a  pale  light  came  in  through 
the  northern  windows  of  the  clerestory, 
which  steadily  grew  brighter  until  broad 
bands  of  yellow  moonlight  slanted  across 
the  nave  and  choir,  lit  up  more  faintly  the 
north  transept,  filled  the  Lady  Chapel 
through  its  broad  windows  with  a  flood  of 
brightness,  and  made  the  marble  chantries 
of  Waynflete  and  Cardinal  Beaufort  show 


A  NIGHT  WITH  WILLIAM  OF  WYKEHAM    IQI 

fairer  even  than  by  day.  They  lay  upon  the 
dark  stalls  of  the  choir  and  peered  through 
their  rich  carvings,  as  they  had  been  doing 
for  centuries ;  struck  across  the  cheek  of  the 
young  man  on  the  throne  of  the  bishop,  but 
failed  to  waken  him ;  and  fell  full  upon  the 
eyes  of  the  small  boy  in  the  decanal  stall, 
and  awoke  him  with  a  start. 

The  face  of  the  person  on  the  throne  at 
once  caught  his  frightened  gaze.  He  re- 
membered that  one  of  the  larger  choir- 
boys had  told  him  how,  on  certain  nights  of 
the  year,  old  Bishop  Wykeham  was  in  the 
habit  of  leaving  his  chantry  in  the  nave, 
where  he  had  been  lying  for  the  last  five 
hundred  years,  and  going  up  into  the  choir 
to  sit  upon  the  throne.  The  story  must 
have  been  true,  he  thought,  and  that  must 
surely  be  the  bishop  himself  sitting  there  so 
white  and  quiet  with  his  mitre  off.  As  the 
boy  watched  the  throne  in  terror,  the  young 
man  stirred  slightly  in  his  sleep,  and  a  half- 
audible  exclamation  escaped  him.  At  this 
the  boy  cowered  down  in  his  place,  and  then, 


IQ2    THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

not  daring  to  look  again  at  the  supposed 
bishop,  crept  out,  opened  the  choir  gates 
noiselessly,  passed  into  the  nave,  thence  into 
the  north  transept,  and  along  the  north  choir 
aisle  till  he  had  gained  the  retro-choir  behind 
the  great  reredos  and  the  feretory.  Beside 
the  chantry  of  Bishop  Waynflete  he  paused 
to  listen  whether  or  no  he  were  pursued. 
The  moonbeams  lighted  up  the  features  of 
the  sleeping  effigy  within  the  chantry,  as 
they  had  done  the  face  of  Wykeham  on  the 
throne.  The  thought  came  to  the  boy  that, 
perhaps,  this  bishop  could  leave  his  tomb 
likewise,  and,  as  a  sound  like  a  low  moan 
was  heard  just  then,  he  fled  in  affright  into 
the  Lady  Chapel,  and  hid  in  one  of  the  stalls 
there. 

It  was  but  the  rising  wind  outside  that  he 
had  heard,  but  of  this  he  was  ignorant.  His 
terrified  imagination  now  asserted  itself,  and 
to  his  fancy  all  the  famous  men  and  women 
whom  he  knew  were  buried  in  the  cathedral 
seemed  to  pass  through  the  retro-choir  in  a 
stately  round  of  the  cathedral.  He  was  sure 


A  NIGHT  WITH  WILLIAM  OF  WYKEHAM    193 

that  he  saw  them  through  the  openwork  of 
the  parclose  screen  separating  the  chapel 
from  the  retro-choir.  But  while  they  were 
still  moving  past  him  with  slow  strides,  the 
cathedral  grew  suddenly  dark,  for  heavy 
clouds  obscured  the  moon,  and  the  boy  saw 
the  phantoms  no  more. 

Soon  after,  the  young  man  awoke,  and, 
for  a  time,  was  unable  to  think  where  he 
was,  till,  putting  out  his  hand,  he  touched 
the  purple  hangings  of  the  throne.  He 
wondered  then  what  hour  it  might  be.  The 
cathedral  clock  sounding  the  double  quarters 
just  then  did  not  help  him,  and,  striking  a 
match,  he  looked  at  his  watch,  the  hands  of 
which  indicated  half  after  four.  He  was 
broad  awake  now,  and,  knowing  that  he 
could  not  get  to  sleep  again,  he  drew  a  cigar 
from  his  pocket,  lighted  it,  and  was  soon 
smoking  vigorously, —  a  ceremony  which  it 
is  safe  to  say  had  never  been  performed  in  that 
place  by  any  of  his  episcopal  predecessors. 

The  boy,  who  had  not  found  himself  at  all 
comfortable  in  the  hard,  uncushioned  stalls 


194  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

of  the  Lady  Chapel,  was  now,  under  cover 
of  the  darkness,  stealing  back  to  the  dean's 
seat  in  the  choir.  After  he  was  once  more 
ensconced  therein,  he  ventured  to  look  in 
the  direction  of  the  throne.  It  was  too  dark 
to  distinguish  the  face  of  Bishop  Wykeham, 
but  where  he  had  seen  it  was  now  gleaming 
a  small  red  fire,  which  paled  at  times,  and 
then  glowed  fiercely.  This  sight  was  too 
much  for  the  endurance  of  the  poor  child, 
who  sank  back  in  mortal  terror  among  the 
curtains,  and  hid  his  face  in  their  friendly 
folds.  He  dared  not  look  again  toward  the 
throne,  and  after  a  time  he  fell  into  a  troubled 
sleep. 

Daylight  presently  began  to  make  itself 
felt  in  the  cathedral.  Uncertain  shadows 
took  on  form  as  they  emerged  one  by  one 
from  the  gloom.  When  the  first  rays  of  the 
sun  kindled  the  gorgeous  colours  in  the  east 
window  high  above  the  reredos,  the  young 
man  rose  from  the  throne,  and  walked  slowly 
about  the  cathedral  till  the  time  should  come 
for  it  to  be  opened.  The  hours  dragged  on 


A  NIGHT  WITH  WILLIAM  OF  WYKEHAM     195 

slowly  enough,  but  at  last  he  heard  a  key 
turn  in  some  far-off  lock.  He  started  in  the 
direction  of  the  sound,  but  paused  when  he 
had  taken  but  a  step  or  two.  The  person 
entering  would  naturally  ask  how  he  came 
to  be  there.  As  he  was  not  prepared  to 
face  this  question,  he  waited  behind  one 
of  the  columns  in  the  north  transept  till  two 
women,  who  had  come  to  sweep  the  choir, 
had  begun  their  work. 

It  was  at  the  very  moment  when  he, 
quite  unobserved,  was  passing  out  of  the 
cathedral  by  the  door  at  the  end  of  the  north 
aisle  that  the  women  discovered  the  sleeping 
occupant  of  the  dean's  stall.  Disturbed  by 
their  exclamations  of  wonder,  he  awoke, 
and,  in  reply  to  their  questions,  told  how  he 
came  to  be  there,  how  he  had  seen  Bishop 
Wykeham  sitting  on  the  episcopal  throne, 
then  of  the  visions  he  had  seen  in  the  retro- 
choir,  and,  lastly,  of  the  strange  fire  which 
he. had  seen  burning  on  the  throne.  Bond 
and  the  other  vergers,  coming  in  soon  after, 
heard  the  end  of  the  tale  with  many  expres- 


196  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

sions  of  incredulity;  but  on  going  to  the 
throne  they  found  the  curtain  dragged  aside, 
and  the  cushions  pulled  about.  The  char- 
women thereupon  declared  the  boy's  tale 
to  be  a  true  one,  and  the  vergers  looked 
puzzled.  The  boy  evidently  told  his  story 
in  good  faith,  and,  beyond  question,  some- 
body or  something  had  been  sitting  under 
the  canopy  of  the  throne.  The  dean  was 
appealed  to  later.  The  curtains  still  re- 
mained awry  and  the  cushions  disturbed, 
and  the  two  charwomen  added  some  con- 
fused details  of  ashes,  which  they  had 
brushed  up  from  the  floor  of  the  bishop's 
throne.  The  dean  himself  questioned  the 
boy,  but  the  lad  did  not  swerve  from  his 
first  story.  He  had  seen  a  face  like  Bishop 
Wykeham's  in  the  moonlight  there  against 
the  throne  curtains,  then  from  the  Lady 
Chapel  he  had  watched  the  long  procession 
moving  through  the  retro-choir,  and  then 
from  the  midst  of  the  darkness  he  had  seen 
the  red  flame  where  Wykeham's  face  had 
been  before. 


A  NIGHT  WITH  WILLIAM  OF  WYKEHAM    197 

The  dean  promptly  rejected  the  account 
of  the  procession  as  the  result  of  an  over- 
wrought fancy,  but  was  disposed  to  think 
the  substance  of  the  rest  of  the  tale  might 
be  true,  although,  to  the  disappointment  of 
the  two  charwomen  and  the  elder  vergers, 
he  did  not  incline  to  the  theory  of  Bishop 
Wykeham's  occupation  of  the  throne  the 
previous  night. 

At  matins,  at  ten  o'clock,  the  dean  made 
a  short  address  to  the  small  congregation 
present,  to  the  effect  that,  owing  to  certain 
events  which  had  recently  taken  place,  he 
felt  compelled  to  impose  greater  restrictions 
upon  all  persons  visiting  the  cathedral  for 
other  than  purposes  of  worship,  and  added 
that  tourists  could  on  no  account  be  per- 
mitted to  go  about  the  building  unaccom- 
panied by  a  verger.  A  young  man  sitting 
in  one  of  the  stalls  shrank  back  guiltily 
against  the  carved  work  as  he  listened  to 
the  dean,  and  a  small  choir-boy  among  the 
decani  was  lost  in  wonder.  What  had  tour- 
ists to  do  with  the  dead  Bishop  Wykeham  ? 


THE  DISCONTENTED   BISHOP 


THE  DISCONTENTED  BISHOP 

THE  Bishop  of  Wimborne  was  discon- 
tented. Now  to  most  persons,  cer- 
tainly to  those  of  us  who  are  not  bishops, 
but  who,  if  clergymen  of  lesser  eminence, 
would  very  much  like  to  be  bishops,  the 
implied  association  of  ideas  in  the  statement 
just  made  is,  to  say  the  very  least,  a  trifle 
bewildering.  And  what  call  indeed  has  a 
bishop  to  be  discontented  ?  we  may  well  ask. 
Has  he  not  attained  (at  least  if  he  be  of  the 
American  Church,  where  at  present  there 
are  no  archbishoprics)  unto  all  that  is  to  be 
hoped  for?  It  is  quite  true  that  a  Bishop 
of  New  York  may  count  for  more,  in  his 
own  estimation,  than,  let  us  say,  his  right 
reverend  brother  of  Western  Texas,  but  the 
last-named  prelate  has  as  much  weight  in 
the  House  of  Bishops  as  any  other  of  its 


202    THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

members,  and  huge  lawn  sleeves  are  at  once 
awe-inspiring  and  imposing  by  whomsoever 
worn.  In  the  English  Church  the  two  great 
prizes  of  Canterbury  and  York,  and  the 
lesser  prizes  of  Armagh  and  Dublin,  yet 
remain  to  dazzle  the  eyes  of  lord  bishops, 
but  the  mind  stubbornly  refuses  to  entertain 
a  conception  of  lords  spiritual  who  sulk 
because  the  Prime  Minister  and  Heaven, 
in  concerted  action,  have  not  made  them 
into  primates  and  metropolitans.  To  the 
ordinary  comprehension,  therefore,  discon- 
tent appears  like  the  very  last  emotion  in 
which  a  bishop  is  likely  to  indulge.  And 
yet  the  diocesan  of  Wimborne  was  just  that 
presumably  impossible  person,  —  a  discon- 
tented bishop ! 

His  disquiet  was  no  new  thing  indeed.  It 
had  begun  as  far  back  as  when  he  held  the 
colonial  bishopric  of  Selkirk  in  British 
America.  Now,  without  much  question, 
the  Bishop  of  Selkirk  had  been  a  great 
personage  in  his  own  diocese,  for  within 
that  remote  and  almost  uncharted  portion 


THE  DISCONTENTED  BISHOP  2O3 

of  the  Church  firmament,  there  shone  no 
stars  of  greater  magnitude  than  his  own,  or 
any,  in  fact,  whose  brilliancy  at  all  approached 
it.  Archdeacons  and  rural  deans  are  very 
estimable  persons  in  their  way,  and  have 
their  place  in  the  ecclesiastical  economy, 
but  as  luminaries  of  the  spiritual  world  they 
must  of  very  necessity  pale  their  ineffectual 
fires  before  the  brightness  of  a  bishop  who 
shineth  at  noonday.  Not  that  the  Selkirk 
prelate  was  vain.  How  should  he  be  so,  he 
who  had  full  often  preached  against  that 
failing  which,  moreover,  besets  only  the  lay 
portion  of  humanity,  as  he  assumed  ?  But 
it  is  no  unpleasant  experience  to  be  at  the 
head  of  the  procession,  whether  one  be  bishop 
or  drum-major. 

Such  being  the  case,  it  seemed  to  some 
critics  rather  unwise  for  the  Bishop  of  Sel- 
kirk to  relinquish  the  substantial  glory  that 
was  his  in  Selkirk  for  possibly  greater,  but 
certainly  undefined,  glory  that  might  be  had 
elsewhere.  To  leave  his  sure  place  in  the 
Anglican  firmament  and  shoot  madly  across 


204  THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

the  Church's  middle  sky  in  order  to  effect  a 
lodgment  in  a  different  constellation,  was, 
on  the  face  of  it,  a  hazardous  proceeding. 
It  did  not  appear  thus  to  him,  however,  for 
not  only  had  he  shone  as  a  star  of  the  first 
order  in  Selkirk  for  ten  years,  but  he  con- 
templated shining  with  undiminished  lustre 
somewhere  for  the  remainder  of  his  career 
on  earth.  In  all  this  he  may  have  shown 
some  narrowness  of  mental  vision,  but  then 
we  cannot  all  be  persons  with  wide  horizons. 
He  had  gone  to  Selkirk  as  a  colonial 
bishop  when  but  little  past  his  fortieth  birth- 
day, and  he  had  worked  hard  there  for  an 
entire  decade.  Now  he  felt  that  he  might, 
without  blame,  retire  from  the  arduous 
labours  incident  to  the  administration  of 
church  affairs  in  a  colonial  see,  and  return 
to  England,  which  he  had  left  as  a  young 
priest  more  than  twenty  years  before.  He 
had  not  been  happy  in  Selkirk,  but  had 
made  no  outward  complaint.  Only  to  him- 
self was  his  discontent  made  known,  and 
even  then  it  bore  a  much  softer  name.  But 


THE  DISCONTENTED  BISHOP  205 

when  at  the  end  of  a  ten  years'  episcopate 
he  saw  no  prospect  of  translation  to  a  see 
with  a  more  endurable  climate  than  that  of 
Selkirk,  he  resigned  his  bishopric,  returning 
to  England  with  the  unshaped  thought  in 
his  mind  that  it  might  be  well  to  place 
himself  within  the  Prime  Minister's  range 
of  vision  should  any  English  sees  become 
vacant.  Very  soon  after  arriving  in  Eng- 
land, he  was  offered  an  important  living  in 
Norfolk,  and  accepting  this,  he  presently 
settled  down  into  the  ways  of  English  life 
as  vicar  of  St.  Peter-per-Mountergate  in 
Norwich. 

Had  the  new  vicar  taken  any  one  into 
his  confidence  before  leaving  his  colonial 
diocese,  such  a  confidant,  supposing  him 
possessed  of  ordinary  sense,  must  infallibly 
have  suggested  the  extreme  improbability 
of  the  Prime  Minister  passing  over  the 
claims  of  eminent  clergymen  whose  merits 
were  well  known  to  him,  in  order  to  place 
over  an  English  see  a  retired  colonial  prel- 
ate. Nevertheless,  the  Prime  Minister  and 


206  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

Heaven,  presently,  did  this  most  unlikely 
thing,  for  the  incumbent  of  St.  Peter-per- 
Mountergate  became  the  Bishop  of  Wim- 
borne  within  a  year  after  leaving  Selkirk. 

This  action  on  the  part  of  the  Prime 
Minister  and  Heaven  occasioned  great  sur- 
prise throughout  the  Establishment,  except 
in  one  locality, — the  breast  of  the  new  Wim- 
borne  prelate.  He,  and  very  properly,  too, 
from  his  standpoint,  considered  the  honour 
only  in  the  light  of  a  gracious  and  timely 
acknowledgment  of  his  eminent  fitness  for 
such  a  post.  The  wisdom  of  his  resignation 
of  the  British-American  see  was  now  amply 
justified  by  this  descent  of  the  Wimborne 
mitre  upon  his  brows. 

It  took  some  little  time  for  the  novelty  of 
his  position  at  the  head  of  an  English  see 
to  wear  away.  To  exchange  a  vast  diocese, 
thinly  settled  and  scantily  provided  with 
the  appliances  of  civilisation,  ecclesiastical 
or  otherwise,  —  to  exchange  this  for  a  com- 
pact little  bishopric,  where  there  was  plenty 
to  do,  to  be  sure,  but  which  (if  the  phrase 


THE  DISCONTENTED  BISHOP  2O7 

may  be  used  in  this  connection)  was  well 
appointed  with  a  comfortable  palace  in  the 
cathedral  city,  —  this  was  indeed  a  transition 
to  make  a  man  as  cheerful  of  countenance 
and  as  glad  of  heart  as  ever  the  Scriptural 
oil  and  wine  might  suffice  to  do.  And  for 
a  time  the  Bishop  of  Wimborne  was  as 
cheerful  of  mien  and  as  joyful  of  heart  as  it 
became  him  to  be. 

But  it  was  only  for  a  time  that  he  was 
thus  elate,  one  regrets  to  say.  So  far  as 
this  prelate  was  especially  concerned,  the 
episcopal  sky  was  wholly  overcast  within  a 
year,  with  small  prospects  of  clearing  weather 
presented  to  his  discernment.  In  the  mat- 
ter of  worldly  prosperity  he  ought  to  have 
been  abundantly  satisfied,  for  to  be  Bishop 
of  Wimborne  was  quite  the  equivalent  of 
being  blessed  in  basket  and  in  store.  But 
he  was  not  satisfied.  To  put  it  very  plainly, 
the  prelate  was  downright  discontented.  And 
it  was  no  vague  unrest,  either,  that  disturbed 
the  slumbers  of  the  diocesan  of  Wimborne 
and  intruded  upon  his  waking  hours.  It 


2o8  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

was,  on  the  contrary,  a  very  definite,  and,  in 
his  view,  amply  sufficient  source  of  annoy- 
ance. 

Now  when  the  mitre  of  Wimborne  had 
been  offered  to  the  incumbent  of  St.  Peter- 
per-Mountergate  within  a  twelvemonth  after 
his  resignation  of  the  Selkirk  diocese,  that 
personage,  accepting  it  with  decorous  joy, 
had,  at  the  moment,  been  very  far  from 
looking  squarely  in  the  mouth  so  handsome 
a  gift-horse  as  this.  He  had  gone  actively 
at  work  in  the  administration  of  affairs  in 
the  diocese  of  Wimborne,  and  it  was  not 
until  Parliament  was  about  assembling  for 
its  next  session  that  a  very  disagreeable 
fact  began  to  dawn  upon  his  perceptions. 
Although  born  in  England,  his  youth  had 
all  been  passed  in  the  colonies,  and  until 
after  his  resigation  of  the  Selkirk  bishopric 
he  had  lived  in  England,  since  his  infancy, 
only  during  the  years  he  had  spent  in  the 
University  of  Oxford.  He  was  aware  that 
the  House  of  Lords  was  composed  of  tem- 
poral and  spiritual  peers,  and,  without  taking 


THE  DISCONTENTED  BISHOP  209 

pains  to  inform  himself  further,  had  con- 
fidently assumed  that  all  English  bishops 
sat  in  the  House  of  Lords.  It  was  only  a 
short  time  before  the  queen's  speech  from 
the  throne  that  he  made  the  discovery  that 
there  were  several  dioceses  whose  spiritual 
heads  were  entitled  to  appear  in  the  Upper 
House  at  certain  times  only,  and  in  obedi- 
ence to  a  rule  of  succession.  This  rule  was 
necessitated  by  the  fact  that  only  twenty- 
four  spiritual  peers  could  be  accommodated 
with  seats  in  the  House  of  Lords  at  one 
time,  and  that  there  were  more  bishops  than 
seats.  Moreover,  there  was  one  diocese 
whose  episcopal  head  was  for  ever  ineligible 
to  a  seat  in  Parliament,  and  that  diocese 
was  Wimborne. 

"  This  is  an  outrage,"  exclaimed  the  prel- 
ate, indignantly,  to  his  chaplain,  when  he 
learned  this  startlingly  unpleasant  fact,  and 
the  chaplain  quite  agreed  with  his  superior, 
but  didn't  see  that  anything  could  be  done 
about  it. 

The  bishop  was  not  so  sure  of  this,  how- 


2IO  THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

ever,  but  presently  recovered  his  dignity, 
and,  as  his  chaplain  fancied,  dismissed  the 
matter  from  his  mind.  But  in  reality  the 
aggrieved  bishop  did  no  such  thing.  Though 
he  said  nothing  further  to  his  chaplain  on 
the  matter,  he  thought  about  it  so  continu- 
ally that  he  came  at  least  to  feel  that  his 
exclusion  from  the  body  of  spiritual  peers 
was  not  only  a  wrong  done  to  him  person- 
ally, but  an  indignity  placed  upon  the  whole 
Establishment.  Now  all  this  was  most  un- 
reasonable on  his  part,  let  us  grant,  but  when 
have  discontented  people,  either  clerical  or 
lay,  been  perfectly  reasonable  ? 

At  the  second  opening  of  Parliament  that 
occurred  after  the  enthronement  of  the 
Bishop  of  Wimborne,  it  chanced  that  the 
turn  of  the  Welsh  bishopric  of  St.  Asaph 
to  representation  in  the  House  of  Lords  had 
come,  but  the  spiritual  head  of  that  diocese 
was  then  travelling  for  his  health,  and  did 
not  mean  to  take  his  seat  as  one  of  that 
august  body  for  at  least  a  month,  or  until 
his  return  from  the  Continent.  The  Welsh 


THE  DISCONTENTED  BISHOP  211 

bishop  had  been  but  little  in  England,  and 
was  personally  known  to  but  few  of  the 
lords  spiritual,  while  his  absence  in  foreign 
parts  was  a  matter  of  which  scarcely  any  one 
outside  of  his  diocese  was  cognisant.  His 
vacant  seat  was,  therefore,  unremarked  when 
Parliament  assembled,  for,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  only  a  scant  half  dozen  of  bishops  was 
present  on  that  occasion.  The  Bishop  of 
Wimborne,  surveying  the  scene  from  a  dark 
corner  of  the  visitors'  gallery,  could  not  at 
all  understand  such  indifference  to  privilege 
on  the  part  of  his  spiritual  brethren.  He 
would  have  been  only  too  glad  to  sit  through 
the  thirteen  years  of  another  Long  Parlia- 
ment had  opportunity  offered,  but,  alas !  so 
long  as  he  remained  only  a  Bishop  of  Wim- 
borne he  might  never  sit  with  that  goodly 
company  at  all.  It  was  hard  indeed.  Yet 
he  paid  daily  visits  to  the  House  of  Lords 
on  the  card  of  one  or  two  members  whom 
he  knew,  sitting  in  the  gallery  of  which  he 
was  the  sole  occupant,  and  feeling  very  much 
like  the  Peri  shut  out  from  Paradise.  But 


212  THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

the  resemblance  between  himself  and  the 
Peri  at  the  gates  of  Eden  extended  no 
further  than  the  unhappiness  of  their  respec- 
tive conditions,  for  the  portly  prelate  of 
Wimborne  was,  to  outward  seeming,  very 
little  like  a  Peri,  and  could  never  have  been 
mistaken  for  one,  even  by  the  most  short- 
sighted. 

The  bishop  had  not  hitherto  appeared  in 
apron  and  gaiters  during  his  stay  in  Lon- 
don, but  in  the  dress  of  an  ordinary  clergy- 
man simply.  On  the  fifth  day,  however,  it 
pleased  him  to  take  his  daily  walk  to  West- 
minster clad  in  all  respects  as  a  bishop 
should  be  habited  when  he  takes  the  air, 
and  most  imposing  did  he  appear  in  conse- 
quence. Any  impartial  observer  would  have 
said  without  a  moment's  hesitation  that  such 
a  pair  of  shapely  black-gaitered  calves  as  his 
were  as  well  worthy  to  be  displayed  in  the 
House  of  Lords  as  those  of  my  Lord  Bishop 
of  London  himself.  Some  such  thought 
was  in  their  owner's  mind  as  he  walked 
slowly  past  Whitehall.  He  had  planned  to 


THE  DISCONTENTED  BISHOP  213 

return  to  Wimborne  on  the  morrow,  and 
this  was  to  be  his  last  glimpse  of  that  august 
body  whence  he  was,  as  he  felt,  so  unjustly 
excluded.  As  he  neared  Westminster  Hall, 
he  was  greeted  by  a  prelate  whom  he  did 
not  know,  but  who,  nevertheless,  called  him 
by  name.  .  It  was  not  his  own  name,  how- 
ever, but  that  of  the  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph, 
whom  the  Wimborne  prelate  closely  resem- 
bled in  face  and  figure.  He  had  been  made 
aware  of  the  circumstance  not  long  before, 
when  he  learned  of  the  Welsh  bishop's 
absence  on  the  Continent,  but  had  not  be- 
stowed much  thought  upon  either  circum- 
stance. But  he  was  aware  that  the  spiritual 
peer  for  whom  he  had  been  mistaken  had, 
in  the  progress  of  events,  become  entitled  to 
a  seat  in  Parliament,  and  his  new  acquaint- 
ance, the  Bishop  of  Carlisle,  was,  of  course, 
similarly  aware  of  it. 

"  I  ham  much  pleased  that  your  turn  has 
come  at  last,"  said  the  Cumberland  prelate, 
blandly.  "  I  am  sure  we  shall  all  be  glad  to 
have  you  with  us.  It  is  some  time  since 


214  THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

there  has  been  a  new  person  amongst  us. 
The  Bishop  of  St.  Albans,  whose  seat  has 
now  become  yours  in  right  of  succession, 
was  a  most  excellent  person  in  his  prime, 
but  that,  you  know,  was  a  long  time  ago." 

All  this  had  followed  so  quickly  upon  the 
greeting  itself  that  the  bishop  addressed  had 
not  yet  found  time  to  tell  the  speaker  of  the 
mistake  that  had  been  made.  And  before 
the  Bishop  of  Carlisle  had  paused  a  terrible 
temptation  presented  itself  to  Wimborne's 
chief  shepherd.  Why  should  not  he  fill,  for 
a  few  days  at  least,  the  seat  of  the  absent 
Welsh  prelate  ?  If  the  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph 
were  known  by  sight  to  but  few  of  the  bish- 
ops, neither  was  he  himself  any  better  known 
for  that  matter.  No  doubt  the  devil  whispers 
at  times  in  the  ear  of  the  best  of  bishops,  just 
as  he  was  in  fact  doing  at  this  moment  in  the 
ear  of  the  Bishop  of  Wimborne,  and  no  doubt, 
too,  had  the  time  for  decision  not  been  so 
extremely  short,  the  evil  counsellor  afore- 
said would  have  been  driven  ignominiously 
away,  after  the  manner  of  bishops  when 


THE  DISCONTENTED  BISHOP  215 

dealing  with  the  arch-enemy  of  mankind. 
But  the  Wimborne  prelate  was  caught  at 
sore  disadvantage.  He  had  been  so  taken 
aback  on  hearing  himself  addressed  as  Bishop 
of  St.  Asaph  that  he  had  been  unable  to 
explain  matters  before  the  Cumberland  prel- 
ate had  gone  on  to  say  how  they  should  all 
be  glad  to  see  him  in  his  proper  place  among 
the  lords.  And  so,  with  the  devil  whispering 
at  one  ear,  and  the  Bishop  of  Carlisle  at  the 
other,  it  is  not  to  be  greatly  wondered  at  that 
the  listener  to  them  both  should  stumble  at 
length  into  the  path  in  which  both  were  bid- 
ding him  to  walk. 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  be  there,"  he 
soon  found  himself  saying  in  reply  to  both 
counsellors.  This  was  true  enough,  and 
committed  him  to  nothing  as  he  told  him- 
self, and  then,  while  the  Northern  prelate 
continued  to  enlarge  upon  topics  of  the 
moment,  the  Bishop  of  Wimborne  found 
himself  drawn  along  into  the  vestibule  of 
the  House  of  Lords,  and  then  introduced  to 
several  prelates  as  the  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph. 


216  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

A  moment  more  found  him  seated  among 
the  lords  spiritual.  Up  to  the  moment  of 
the  introductions  he  had  said  to  himself  that 
he  must  not  let  the  joke  go  any  further,  and 
that  he  would  declare  his  identity  before  he 
should  enter  the  august  chamber.  But  the 
Bishop  of  Carlisle  had  talked  so  continuously 
that  the  other  had  not  been  able  to  get  in 
a  word  edgewise,  and  when  the  first  intro- 
duction took  place  the  tongue  of  Wimborne's 
diocesan,  refusing  to  perform  the  office  truth 
required  of  it,  would  utter  only  the  polite 
commonplaces  of  greeting.  The  mischief 
was  done. 

It  was  an  awful  joy  that  filled  the  soul  of 
the  Bishop  of  Wimborne  as  he  sat  for  awhile 
on  those  soft  cushions  along  with  three  or 
four  others  of  the  lords  spiritual.  It  must 
be  admitted  that  there  was  nothing  going 
on  just  then  worth  anybody's  listening  to, 
even  though  one  of  the  lords  temporal  was 
lifting  up  his  voice  to  protest  against  the 
disestablishment  of  the  Welsh  Church,  but 
still  the  bishop  experienced  an  uplift  of  spirit 


THE  DISCONTENTED  BISHOP  217 

never  known  before.  This  was  indeed  to 
drink  delight  of  battle  with  one's  peers,  he 
told  himself,  with  pardonable  confusion  of 
thought.  For  an  hour  or  two  he  banished 
from  his  mind  all  considerations  of  exit  from 
the  scrape  into  which,  by  no  fault  of  his  own, 
—  surely  by  no  fault  of  his  own,  —  the  devil 
and  the  Bishop  of  Carlisle  had  jointly  per- 
sisted in  bringing  him. 

But  as  he  sat  alone  in  his  room  at  the 
hotel  that  evening  he  did  then  think  a  great 
deal  about  the  matter.  It  certainly  was  not 
his  fault  if  he  resembled  very  nearly  the 
Bishop  of  St.  Asaph ;  neither  was  it  his 
fault  if  the  Cumberland  prelate  had  mistaken 
him  for  the  Flintshire  bishop.  And  again 
he  felt  that  thrill  of  awful  joy  as  he  reflected 
that  he  had  once  sat  in  the  House  of  Lords, 
even  though  he  had  so  sat  in  the  borrowed 
dignity  of  a  Welsh  bishop.  (He  could  not 
bring  himself  even  now  to  say  stolen  dig- 
nity.) 

Yes,  he  had  sat  there  sure  enough,  and 
now  what  was  to  come  of  it  all  ?  He  could 


218  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

not  sit  there  again,  that  was  certain.  The 
Bishop  of  St.  Asaph  might  appear  at  any 
moment  to  demand  his  seat,  and  such  a  de- 
mand, then  and  there  made,  would  be  very 
awkward  for  the  Bishop  of  Wimborne  to 
support  with  dignity,  to  say  the  least  of  it. 
He  remembered  how,  in  a  century  long  past, 
the  Archbishops  of  York  and  Canterbury 
had  wrangled  over  the  same  question  of 
seats,  and  how  his  Grace  of  York,  finding 
argument  of  no  avail,  had  thereupon 
promptly  plumped  himself  down  in  the  lap 
of  his  astonished  rival  as  a  practical  asser- 
tion of  his  rights.  That  kind  of  protest 
might  have  done  very  well  for  mediaeval 
archbishops  to  make  use  of,  but  it  was  hardly 
practicable  for  even  ordinary  bishops  to  adopt 
now.  It  was  highly  unlikely  that  the  Bishop 
of  St.  Asaph  would  rudely  attempt  to  sit 
in  a  usurping  bishop's  lap,  but  even  without 
resorting  to  such  active  measures  he  might, 
nevertheless,  make  matters  extremely  un- 
pleasant for  the  episcopal  usurper  aforesaid. 
The  more  the  Wimborne  prelate  consid- 


THE  DISCONTENTED  BISHOP  219 

ered  the  subject,  the  more  difficult  of  solution 
it  appeared.  It  was  open  to  him  to  write  to 
the  Bishop  of  Carlisle,  and  say  frankly  that, 
finding  himself  taken  for  his  spiritual  brother 
of  St.  Asaph,  he  had,  perhaps  unwisely, 
thought  to  treat  the  matter  as  a  joke,  to  be 
explained  later.  But  would  the  Bishop  of 
Carlisle  treat  it  as  a  joke,  he  asked  himself, 
anxiously.  Perhaps  that  esteemed  prelate's 
sense  of  humour  was  so  slight  that  he  might 
altogether  fail  to  perceive  any  joke  in  the 
fact  that  one  bishop  had  personated  another 
bishop  in  so  sacred  a  place  as  the  House  of 
Lords.  In  that  case,  what  was  the  Bishop 
of  Wimborne  to  say  in  further  excuse  ?  Or, 
if  the  Cumberland  prelate  should  chance  to 
see  the  humorous  side  of  the  situation,  would 
my  Lords  of  Ely,  Norwich,  Lichfield,  and 
Peterborough,  with  whom  he  had  that  day 
sat,  see  its  mirthful  aspects  likewise  ?  And 
even  if  they  did  relish  the  joke,  what  should 
he  say  to  the  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph  when, 
in  the  natural  course  of  events,  he  should 
encounter  that  now  dreaded  personage? 


220  THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

However  easily  the  other  lords  spiritual 
might  be  moved  to  laughter,  the  Welsh 
bishop  might  very  properly  decline  to  see 
the  full  humour  of  the  circumstance.  No,  it 
was  not  feasible  for  him  to  write  in  explana- 
tion to  the  Bishop  of  Carlisle. 

But  if  the  whole  story  became  public,  as 
some  day  it  must  surely  do,  what  was  he  to 
say  for  himself  then  ?  With  what  sort  of 
face  could  he  meet  the  clergy  and  laity 
of  his  Wimborne  diocese  when  every  one  of 
them  would  probably  be  thinking  hard  things 
of  him  ?  At  his  consecration  he  had  prom- 
ised to  show  himself  "  in  all  things  an  exam- 
ple of  good  works  unto  others  that  the 
adversary  might  be  ashamed  of  having 
nothing  to  say  against  him."  Was  it  then 
a  good  work  to  take  another's  name  and 
dignities  ?  And  was  the  adversary  really 
ashamed  at  this  present  moment,  and  had 
this  same  adversary  nothing  truly  to  urge 
against  the  right  reverend  head  of  the  Wim- 
borne see  ?  For  the  first  time  since  his 
leaving  it,  the  Bishop  of  Wimborne  now 


THE  DISCONTENTED  BISHOP  221 

wished  himself  back  in  his  colonial  see  of 
Selkirk. 

"  Oh,  what  a  tangled  web  we  weave 
When  first  we  practise  to  deceive," 

he  found  himself  repeating.  But  then  he 
had  not  practised  deception.  He  had  not 
woven  any  web  deliberately.  It  had  all  been 
forced,  yes,  forced  upon  him.  If  he  were  to 
blame  in  the  matter,  so  was  the  Bishop  of 
Carlisle  to  blame  for  not  knowing  his  brother 
bishops  apart. 

Still  he  knew  that  in  the  general  estima- 
tion, as  well  as  at  the  General  Assize,  when 
the  secrets  of  all  hearts  shall  be  made  known, 
he,  and  not  the  Bishop  of  Carlisle,  would  be 
judged  as  having  done  that  which  ought  to 
have  been  left  undone.  And  however  far 
off  might  be  the  date  of  that  General  Assize, 
it  could  not  be  long,  indeed,  before  the  pub- 
lic would  be  cheerfully  deciding  upon  his 
case.  His  identity  had  not  been  suspected 
by  any  of  the  lords  bishops  whom  he  had 
met  that  day  for  the  first  time,  but,  in  the 


222  THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

course  of  ordinary  conversation  within  the 
next  twenty-four  hours,  any  one  of  them 
might  learn  that  the  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph 
was  on  the  Continent,  and  that  his  place 
had  that  day  been  rilled  by  an  impostor. 

He  was  aware  that  Jovianan  the  Proud 
had  once  been  personated  by  an  angel, 
whose  likeness  to  the  defrauded  monarch 
was  so  close  as  to  deceive  all  beholders,  but 
it  was  extremely  unlikely  that  the  Bishop 
of  St.  Asaph,  or  anybody  else,  in  the  year 
1893,  would  give  much  credence  to  the  no- 
tion of  an  angel  having  sat  for  a  few  hours 
among  the  spiritual  peers  in  the  House  of 
Lords,  in  the  room  of  one  of  their  number. 
And  without  intending  any  disrespect  to 
the  lords  spiritual,  one  does  not  readily  as- 
sociate them  with  angels,  as  my  Lord  of 
Wimborne  knew  only  too  well. 

It  was  clear,  then,  that  no  supernatural 
hypothesis  would  be  proposed,  or  accepted, 
to  explain  a  circumstance  that,  at  the  very 
longest,  must  become  familiar  in  the  ears 
of  men  when  the  Welsh  bishop  should  re- 


THE  DISCONTENTED  BISHOP  223 

turn  from  his  holiday.  And  the  Bishop  of 
Wimborne  grew  more  abjectly  miserable,  the 
more  he  thought  about  it.  Confession  he 
could  not  bring  himself  to  contemplate,  while 
what  he  had  done  should  remain  undiscov- 
ered, brief  though  that  interval  might  be, 
and  denial  of  his  passive  sin  of  that  day 
would  avail  him  nothing  when  discovery  at 
last  came,  should  he  attempt  it.  Denial 
would  be  useless,  indeed,  when,  some  dark 
day,  he  should  be  summoned  before  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  For  a  little 
while  he  thought  of  flight  to  some  indef- 
inite region,  where  primates  cease  from 
troubling,  and  bishops  are  at  rest.  Then, 
by  a  very  natural  process  of  thought,  since 
no  such  desired  refuge  was  to  be  found,  so 
far  as  he  knew,  this  side  of  the  grave,  the 
idea  of  suicide  was  suggested  to  him. 

But  so  extreme  a  step  as  this,  that  would 
carry  him  at  once  beyond  the  jurisdiction  of 
the  Primate  of  all  England  was  not  to  be 
seriously  entertained  for  long.  So  far  as  he 
could  recall,  no  bishop  of  the  Anglican  faith 


224   THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

had  ever  sought  such  an  escape  from  his 
perplexities,  however  great,  and  the  Bishop 
of  Wimborne  was  too  staunch  a  churchman 
to  disregard  precedent  in  matters  of  impor- 
tance. To  be  sure,  his  sitting  in  the  seat 
of  the  Welsh  prelate  was  without  a  pre- 
cedent, in  post-Reformation  days,  at  any  rate, 
but  that  had  not  been  a  matter  wholly  of 
his  own  will,  for  he  had,  so  to  speak,  been 
forced  into  it.  And  this  thought  brought 
him  around  to  the  beginning  of  his  troubled 
self-communings.  What  was  he  to  do  ? 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  did  nothing,  so  far 
as  immediate  escape  from  his  dilemma  was 
concerned.  He  went  down  to  his  Dorset 
see  by  train  the  next  morning,  with  epis- 
copal dignity  of  the  intensest  kind  radiating, 
as  it  were,  from  his  entire  person,  glancing 
off  from  his  apron,  indeed,  and  reflected 
upward  from  his  polished  boots.  The  por- 
ters ran  by  twos  and  threes  to  grasp  his 
luggage,  when  he  alighted  at  the  Wimborne 
station,  and  the  station-master  touched  his 
cap  with  two  deeply  deferential  fingers,  when 


THE  DISCONTENTED  BISHOP  225 

the  bishop  passed  him,  with  some  word  of 
gracious  inquiry.  And  as  the  prelate  got 
into  his  carriage,  awaiting  him  at  the  rear 
of  the  station,  he  wondered  how  long  it 
would  be  before  these  same  fingers  of  defer- 
ence would  become  fingers  of  scorn ;  how 
long  before  the  obsequious  porters  and  the 
boy  at  the  book-stall  would  be  making  free 
with  his  name. 

That  evening  he  and  his  chaplain  drew 
up  an  outline  of  the  next  episcopal  visitation 
to  be  made  in  the  diocese,  a  most  compre- 
hensive one  indeed,  since  not  a  single  parish 
was  omitted  from  it. 

"  It  will  take  just  four  months  to  make  the 
tour,"  observed  the  chaplain,  as  he  jotted 
down  the  last  date ;  "  that's  a  long  time." 

"  A  long  time,  indeed,"  echoed  his  su- 
perior, thinking  the  while  how  small  was 
the  probability  of  its  being  completed  before 
the  falling  sword  should  cut  short  his  use- 
fulness in  mid-career. 

When  the  chaplain  had  gone  the  bishop 
sat  by  his  study  fire  till  long  past  midnight. 


226  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

Larkins,  the  butler,  had  made  more  than 
one  errand  into  the  room,  ostensibly  to  see 
if  his  lordship  wished  anything,  but  in  reality 
to  indicate  by  his  presence  that  it  was  time 
to  close  the  house,  and  that,  in  his  opinion, 
his  master  had  much  better  go  to  bed,  and 
let  other  people  do  the  same.  At  last,  to 
his  great  relief,  he  heard  the  bishop  close 
the  study  door,  and  saw  him  go  up  the 
stairs,  holding  his  silver  candlestick  peril- 
ously aslant  in  his  preoccupation. 

"  And  'igh  time,  indeed,  for  'im  to  go," 
was  Larkins's  half-audible  comment,  as  he 
closed  the  shutters,  and  covered  the  fire. 

The  bishop  slept  but  little  that  night,  and 
came  down  to  breakfast  looking  so  worn 
and  old  that  Larkins  shook  a  sympathetic 
head  in  the  depths  of  his  pantry,  as  one  who 
foresaw  his  master's  speedy  departure  from 
the  scene  of  his  earthly  labours.  As  he 
went  below  stairs  he  confided  his  dismal 
forebodings  to  the  cook  and  her  satellites, 
and  enjoyed  in  mournful  fashion  the  conse- 
quent gloom  that  overspread  the  establish- 


THE  DISCONTENTED  BISHOP  227 

ment.  When  he  returned  to  the  breakfast- 
room  with  the  letters  just  come  from  the 
post,  the  bishop's  hand  trembled,  as  he  took 
them  from  the  tray,  and  Larkins  noted  the 
fact  as  a  confirmation  of  his  fears. 

"  'E's  a-breakin'  up  fast,"  was  the  butler's 
next  communication  below  stairs. 

"  'E'll  last  the  day  out,  won't  'ee,  Mr.  Lar- 
kins ? "  queried  the  head  gardener,  who  did 
not  like  Larkins.  But  that  functionary 
scorned  to  reply. 

There  was  nothing  alarming  in  any  of  the 
communications  that  reached  the  bishop  at 
breakfast-time.  The  mine  had  not  yet  ex- 
ploded. But,  as  the  bishop  awaited  the 
explosion  on  that  day,  and  on  the  days 
that  followed,  he  almost  wished  it  had  taken 
place,  and  judgment  had  been  meted  out 
to  him.  The  scorn  and  contempt  of  men 
could  scarcely  be  harder  to  endure  than 
present  existence  in  dread  of  what  the  next 
moment  might  disclose.  And  yet,  the  end 
of  each  evening  brought  with  it  a  sense  of 
relief,  that  till  the  morrow,  at  least,  he  was 


228  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

secure ;  that  for  some  eight  hours  more,  at 
shortest,  the  shadow  could  not  fall  across 
his  name.  And  thus  the  days  went  on  in 
the  palace  at  Wimborne. 

Six  weeks  after  the  Wimborne  prelate 
had  personated  the  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph,  in 
the  House  of  Lords,  the  real  head  of  that 
Flintshire  see  returned  from  abroad,  no 
word  having  reached  him  meanwhile  of  his 
having  been  represented  in  Parliament,  on 
a  certain  occasion,  by  one  of  his  brethren 
of  the  episcopate.  Coming  directly  up  to 
London  from  Harwich,  where  he  had  landed 
from  the  Antwerp  steamer,  he  was  formally 
inducted  into  his  seat  among  the  lords  spir- 
itual a  day  or  two  later.  The  Bishop  of 
Carlisle  was  not  present  on  this  occasion, 
and  neither  were  my  Lords  of  Ely,  Nor- 
wich, Lichfield,  and  Peterborough,  who  had 
been  in  attendance  when  the  Pretender,  as 
he  might  have  been  called,  was  there.  No 
one,  therefore,  remarked  upon  this  as  the 
second  appearance  in  Parliament  of  the 
Bishop  of  St.  Asaph.  When,  in  course 


THE  DISCONTENTED  BISHOP  22Q 

of  time,  the  four  prelates  already  named 
saw  their  Welsh  contemporary  in  his  proper 
place  among  the  lords  spiritual,  they  had 
quite  forgotten  that  his  like  had  been  seen 
there  before.  The  Bishop  of  Carlisle,  we 
may  be  sure,  would  not  have  forgotten,  but 
he  never  resumed  his  place  in  the  House  of 
Lords.  Having  been  taken  ill  soon  after 
his  meeting  with  the  Bishop  of  Wimborne, 
he  had  died  within  the  month  following. 
But  his  death  removed  no  load  from  the 
mind  of  the  Bishop  of  Wimborne,  who 
could  not  know  that  the  secret,  such  as  it 
was,  had  perished  with  the  Cumberland  prel- 
ate, for  my  Lord  of  Wimborne  considered 
it  not  at  all  unlikely  that  some  word  of  what 
had  happened  had  been  conveyed  to  the 
Welsh  bishop  by  the  late  diocesan  of  Carlisle. 
The  weight  that  oppressed  the  soul  of  the 
spiritual  overseer  of  Wimborne  would  have 
been  instantly  lifted  had  he  known  that  in 
reality  he  had  not  sat,  for  a  moment  even, 
in  the  place  of  the  Welshman.  On  entering 
the  House  of  Lords  with  the  Bishop  of 


230   THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

Carlisle,  the  latter,  knowing  that  his  com- 
panion, the  supposed  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph, 
had  not  been  formally  inducted  into  a  seat, 
and  that  while  the  debate  then  in  progress 
should  continue  the  needful  formalities  of 
such  an  induction  could  not  take  place,  had 
therefore  taken  care  to  place  the  newcomer 
in  what,  to  an  unaccustomed  eye,  would 
have  seemed  part  and  parcel  of  the  bishop's 
domain,  but  was  actually  outside  of  it.  Then, 
not  to  leave  the  supposed  Welsh  bishop 
alone,  he  had  sat  beside  him  as  a  visiting 
prelate,  not  as  a  voting  member.  But  of  all 
this  the  Bishop  of  Wimborne,  whose  colonial 
life  had  removed  him  from  contact  with 
English  usages,  was  profoundly  ignorant. 
He  had  allowed  himself  to  be  passed  off 
as  the  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph,  and,  as  we 
have  seen,  supposed  himself  to  have  occu- 
pied that  prelate's  rightful  seat  among  the 
lords  spiritual  in  Parliament  assembled. 
Even  across  his  most  miserable  moments 
since  a  certain  fierce  thrill  of  joy  had  flitted, 
remembering  that  he  had  sat  in  the  House 


THE  DISCONTENTED  BISHOP  231 

of  Lords,  as  one  of  that  noble  assemblage. 
Greatly  as  it  would  have  relieved  him  to 
know  that  his  alarm  was  needless,  that  there 
was  no  sword  to  fall,  no  mine  to  explode, 
with  this  relief  would  have  been  blent  a  dis- 
appointment almost  as  keen,  on  learning 
that  his  guilty  exaltation  of  soul  had  been 
based  on  a  mistake  of  his  own,  and  that  he 
had  not  sat  in  the  House  of  Lords  as  one 
of  its  spiritual  peers. 

Six  months  after  the  Bishop  of  Wimborne 
returned  to  his  diocese,  with  his  peace  of 
mind  for  ever  destroyed,  he  met  the  Bishop 
of  St.  Asaph,  who  was  much  impressed  by 
the  outward  resemblance  between  himself 
and  the  Dorset  prelate. 

"  You  might  very  easily  pass  yourself  off 
for  me,  I  should  fancy,"  he  remarked  to  the 
Bishop  of  Wimborne,  who  could  not  repress 
a  little  shiver  of  apprehension. 

The  voice  was  somewhat  stern,  and  so,  it 
seemed  to  the  listener,  was  the  gaze  that  the 
Welshman  bent  upon  him.  Had  the  fatal 
moment  come  at  last  ? 


232    THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

"  If  I  should  ever  be  wanted  in  the  House 
of  Lords  when  I  could  not  conveniently  go, 
I  shall  certainly  try  to  persuade  you  to  go  in 
my  place,"  went  on  the  other,  still  full  of  the 
fact  of  the  resemblance. 

The  Dorset  prelate  never  knew  what  an- 
swer he  made  to  this,  for  his  head  seemed  to 
be  in  a  whirl.  Had  his  punishment  at  the 
hands  of  the  Welshman  begun  ?  The  dioc- 
esan of  St.  Asaph  said  no  more,  but  the 
other  remains  very  sure  that  the  whole  mis- 
erable story  of  the  imposture  is  known  to 
the  holder  of  the  Flintshire  see,  at  least. 
It  is  a  cruel  revenge  that  the  Welshman  is 
taking,  thinks  the  Wimborne  prelate,  at 
the  same  time  that  he  admits  its  justice. 
Some  day  it  will  be  brought  to  a  climax, 
for  the  other  surely  will  not  care  to  keep 
his  victim  in  the  toils  of  suspense  for  the 
rest  of  his  life.  The  word  must  some  day 
be  spoken  that  will  sever  the  hair  that  holds 
the  sword  suspended  above  the  head  of  the 
Dorset  diocesan,  that  will  fire  the  fuse  of 
the  mine  beneath  his  feet. 


THE  DISCONTENTED  BISHOP  233 

And  the  persistent  prayer  of  the  Bishop 
of  Wimborne  is  that  he  may  die  before  that 
word  is  said. 

NOTE.  —  That  the  writer  has  taken  liberties  with  the 
internal  arrangements  of  the  House  of  Lords,  he  is  well 
aware,  and  can  only  plead  the  exigences  of  the  situation  in 
excuse.  And,  indeed,  if  a  writer  may  not  now  and  then 
change  the  actual  location  of  architectural  details  to  suit 
his  purposes,  remove  a  stair,  or  add  a  gallery,  —  if,  in  de- 
tails like  these,  he  is  to  be  held  strictly  to  actual  facts, 
what  becomes  of  his  freedom  of  action,  we  should  like  to 
know? 


THE  SERIOUS  DILEMMA  OF  THE 
BISHOP  OF  OKLAHO 


THE  SERIOUS  DILEMMA  OF  THE 
BISHOP  OF  OKLAHO 

TO  be  conspicuously  good-looking,  and 
while  still  on  the  sunny  side  of  forty 
to  have  reached  the  haven  of  the  episcopate, 
is  surely  to  have  been  favoured  of  fortune 
above  the  majority  of  one's  fellows.  But 
thus  favoured,  indeed,  was  the  Bishop  of 
Oklaho,  who  was  only  thirty-eight,  and  had 
been  known  for  three  years  as  the  hand- 
somest member  of  the  American  House  of 
Bishops. 

And  as  a  rule  bishops  are  comely  to  look 
upon.  How  much  of  this  comeliness  is 
inherent  in  their  office,  it  might  be  hard  to 
determine.  Some  very  plain-featured  rectors 
have  become,  if  not  precisely  beautiful,  at 
least  wonderfully  imposing  in  aspect  after 
237 


238  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

their  enrollment  among  the  bishops.  The 
diocesan  of  Oklaho,  however,  had  been  noted 
as  a  handsome  man  while  he  was  yet  the 
spiritual  ruler  of  a  small  country  parish  only. 
Elderly  and  cynical  members  of  the  General 
Convention  (of  the  lower  house,  of  course) 
had  been  heard  to  assert  that  the  Bishop  of 
Oklaho 's  elevation  to  the  episcopate  was  due 
solely  to  the  fact  of  his  handsome  features ; 
but  this  assertion  must  have  been  coloured 
by  personal  bitterness.  For  it  is  quite  cer- 
tain that,  until  standing  committees  admit 
women  delegates  to  their  deliberations,  we 
need  not  expect  that  the  beauty  of  any  candi- 
date will  have  controlling  weight  in  the 
nomination  of  a  bishop. 

But  to  whatever  circumstance  the  Bishop 
of  Oklaho  owed  his  election,  that  he  was 
well  fitted  for  his  office  no  one  attempted  to 
deny.  He  was  an  untiring  worker,  a  preacher 
of  unusual  eloquence,  and,  what  was  of  prime 
importance,  the  possessor  of  a  charm  of 
manner  which  never  failed  of  disarming 
opposition  to  his  faith  in  localities  where 


SERIOUS  DILEMMA  OF  BISHOP  OF  OKLAHO    239 

the  Episcopal  Church  was  known  only  by 
unfriendly  and  vague  report. 

In  the  third  year  after  his  consecration 
as  bishop,  he  was  called  upon  to  perform 
other  duties  than  those  relating  to  the  ad- 
ministration of  affairs  in  his  own  diocese. 
The  Bishop  of  Saginaw  had  just  died,  and 
the  Bishop  of  Oklaho  was  asked  to  under- 
take a  confirmation  tour  planned  by  the 
late  bishop  shortly  before  his  death.  It  was 
while  engaged  in  this  work  that  he  visited 
Port  Huron  to  hold  a  confirmation. 

Much  had  been  heard  in  the  little  city 
concerning  the  handsome  bishop  and  his 
eloquent  sermons.  On  the  Sunday  morning 
of  his  visitation,  Christ  Church  was  filled  by 
a  congregation  made  up  not  only  of  its  own 
members  but  of  strangers  from  other  places 
of  worship.  There  were  present  even  some 
of  her  Majesty's  loyal  subjects  from  Sarnia 
and  Fort  Edward  across  the  river. 

As  the  bishop  entered  the  chancel,  follow- 
ing the  choristers  and  the  rector,  there  was 
a  rustle  among  the  pews  which  expressed 


240   THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

admiration  just  as  unmistakably  as  if  it  had 
been  put  into  words  and  displayed  before 
each  seat  in  letters  a  foot  high.  The  bishop 
detected  the  rustle  as  he  passed  on  to  his 
chair  within  the  sanctuary,  and  knew  exactly 
how  to  interpret  it.  And  being  human,  it 
did  not  displease  him  that  such  a  ripple  of 
sound  should  spread  itself  over  a  congrega- 
tion upon  his  appearance. 

The  rector  interpreted  the  rustle  correctly, 
likewise,  and  being  quite  as  human  as  the 
bishop,  and  far  less  amiable,  it  was  not 
pleasant  for  him  to  remember  that  no  such 
gratifying  murmur  had  ever  attended  his 
own  entrance  into  the  chancel.  Rectors 
who  look  upon  themselves  as  bishops  in 
embryo  are  sometimes  forgetful  of  the  very 
wide  distance  between  bishops  in  posse  and 
bishops  de  facto. 

When  morning  prayer  was  over,  and  the 
choristers,  a  little  fluttered  with  their  un- 
usual exertions  (for  they  had  lifted  up  their 
voice  as  the  storm  wind  for  intensity),  were 
recovering  from  their  flight  into  the  em- 


SERIOUS  DILEMMA  OF  BISHOP  OF  OKLAHO    24! 

pyrean,  the  confirmation  followed  in  due 
form.  Then  the  bishop,  after  a  few  words 
of  advice  to  the  candidates  before  him, 
entered  the  pulpit,  and  the  congregation 
settled  itself  comfortably-  back  among  the 
pew  cushions,  prepared  to  be  moved  howso- 
ever the  reverend  preacher  should  ordain. 

The  Canadian  contingent  present  were 
pleased  to  note  that  the  bishop  followed  the 
Anglican  custom  of  prefacing  the  sermon 
by  a  short  prayer  in  the  pulpit,  but  the  rest 
were  a  little  disturbed  at  the  trifling  depar- 
ture from  what  they  were  used  to. 

A  moment  later  the  circumstance  was 
forgotten.  When  the  prayer  was  ended  the 
bishop  began  his  text  with  the  words :  "  If 
we  say  that  we  have  no  sin  —  "  and  at  this 
point  raised  his  eyes  and  looked  out  upon 
his  audience.  As  he  did  so  those  in  the 
pews  saw  him  start  slightly,  as  if  surprised 
at  something,  and  then  followed  a  long  and 
singular  pause,  during  which  the  bishop 
stood  looking  straight  before  him.  The 
rector,  who  from  his  seat  in  the  chancel 


242  THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

could  not  see  the  face  of  the  bishop,  as- 
sumed that  the  pause  was  being  made  for 
rhetorical  effect,  and  made  an  inward  com- 
ment thereon  not  overcomplimentary  to  his 
superior;  but  those  who  noted  the  colour 
fleet  back  and  forth  over  the  bishop's  coun- 
tenance passed  no  such  judgment. 

The  silence  had  grown  almost  painful 
when  it  was  broken  by  the  bishop's  voice 
once  more  announcing  his  text,  and  no  trace 
of  agitation  showed  itself  in  the  quiet,  even 
tones. 

"  If  we  say  that  we  have  no  sin  we  de- 
ceive ourselves,  and  the  truth  is  not  in  us; 
but  if  we  confess  our  sins,  God  is  faithful 
and  just  to  forgive  us  our  sins  and  to  cleanse 
us  from  all  unrighteousness." 

The  sermon  upon  this  theme  was  very 
much  unlike  those  to  which  Port  Huron 
was  accustomed  to  listen,  and  even  the  choir- 
boys hearkened  on  this  occasion.  The  bishop 
spoke  as  men  speak  who  are  intensely  in 
earnest.  Mediocrity  becomes  respectable 
when  the  speaker  is  impressed  with  his 


SERIOUS  DILEMMA  OF  BISHOP  OF  OKLAHO    243 

theme,  but  when  eloquence  is  touched  with 
the  crowning  quality  of  intense  sincerity,  its 
utterance  becomes  inspiration.  And  the 
bishop  appeared  like  one  inspired  while  he 
faced  his  audience  that  morning. 

After  the  sermon  was  over,  if  the  singular 
preparatory  pause  was  recalled,  it  was  at- 
tributed to  some  momentary  indisposition 
by  most  of  those  present.  But  the  rector 
did  not  thus  account  for  it,  and  being  as 
impervious  to  sermons  as  most  clergymen 
grow  to  be  in  time,  he  gave  only  critical  and 
hostile  attention  to  the  present  one.  There 
was  one  other  listener  who  did  not  interpret 
the  pause  as  the  congregation  had  done,  but 
placed  no  uncharitable  construction  upon  it. 
In  that  pause  this  listener  realised  that  the 
Bishop  of  Oklaho  had  suddenly  come  face 
to  face  with  his  nearly  forgotten  past. 

"  The  church  appeared  very  full  to-day," 
observed  the  prelate,  blandly,  as  he  walked 
home  to  dinner  with  the  rector  after  service. 

"  Yes,"  returned  the  other,  with  that  little 
show  of  cynicism  observable  in  clergymen 


244  THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

turned  of  fifty  who  have  not  attained  dis- 
tinction, "  yes,  it  was.  A  confirmation  brings 
every  one  out." 

The  sharp  note  did  not  escape  the  bishop's 
notice.  He  had  recognised  it  in  the  voices 
of  other  clergymen  on  similar  occasions,  and 
it  amused  him  a  little.  Yet  to  all  appear- 
ance he  ignored  its  existence,  and  went  on 
placidly  with  what  he  had  in  mind. 

"  I  fancied  some  of  the  people  might  have 
been  from  the  Canadian  side." 

"  So  they  were,"  answered  the  rector ;  "  at 
least  twenty  or  thirty  of  them.  One  was 
that  rather  good-looking  woman  sitting  in 
the  last  seat  but  one  on  the  left  of  the 
middle  aisle.  She  had  her  son  with  her,  — 
a  boy  of  about  fifteen.  You  may  have 
observed  her,  for  strangers  are  apt  to  ask 
who  she  is,  I  find." 

"  I  think  I  do  remember  seeing  some  such 
person  as  you  describe,"  said  the  bishop, 
indifferently.  "  Is  she  anybody  in  particu- 
lar?" 

"  No  one  knows  very  much  about  her," 


SERIOUS  DILEMMA  OF  BISHOP  OF  OKLAHO    245 

was  the  rector's  response.  "  She  is  a  widow 
who  has  lived  ten  years  or  more  at  Fort 
Edward,  and  who,  I  hear,  is  much  liked  by 
her  neighbours.  Her  name  is  Eccleston, 
and  I  have  come  to  know  her  slightly  from 
her  occasional  attendance  at  my  church. 
But  here  we  are  at  the  rectory." 

In  the  afternoon,  as  the  bishop  was  taking 
a  quiet  walk  by  himself  along  the  river- 
side, and  thereby  somewhat  scandalising  the 
Baptist  parson,  observing  the  prelate  from 
his  window,  he  was  met  by  the  boy  of  whose 
mother  the  rector  had  spoken  in  the  morn- 
ing. 

"  You  are  the  bishop,  are  you  not,  sir  ? " 
said  the  lad,  a  little  timidly,  as  he  raised  his 
hat. 

"  They  call  me  one,"  returned  the  digni- 
tary, smiling. 

There  was  a  strong  likeness  between  the 
two  as  they  stood  together  on  the  river 
bank  looking  toward  Lake  Huron.  One 
might  have  almost  taken  them  for  brothers. 
The  bishop  appeared  not  a  day  over  thirty- 


246  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

five,  while  the  lad,  though  but  fifteen,  was 
tall,  and  looked  several  years  older  than 
that. 

"  My  mother  wished  me  to  say,  if  I  saw 
you,"  said  the  younger,  "  that  she  would  be 
glad  if  you  could  find  time  to  call  upon  her 
before  you  leave  Port  Huron,  for  she  once 
knew  you,  she  says.  Our  name  is  Eccles- 
ton,  and  we  live  over  across  the  river, — 
between  Fort  Edward  and  Sarnia." 

"  I  leave  for  Chicago  to-morrow  morning," 
said  the  bishop;  "but  I  have  an  hour  or 
two  of  leisure  this  afternoon.  Perhaps  you 
will  kindly  conduct  me  to  your  mother's 
house,"  he  added;  and  they  walked  to  the 
ferry  together. 

The  boy's  message  was  not  wholly  unex- 
pected. When  his  eyes  met  those  of  Mrs. 
Eccleston,  as  he  was  announcing  his  text, 
the  bishop  had  felt  that  some  such  summons 
was  not  unlikely  to  follow ;  and  since  then 
he  had  been  thinking  of  little  else. 

Long  years  before,  when  he  was  not  a 
bishop  at  all,  was  not  in  deacon's  orders 


SERIOUS  DILEMMA  OF  BISHOP  OF  OKLAHO    247 

even,  but  was  merely  a  worldly,  lively  under- 
graduate at  Harvard  University,  he  had  met 
for  the  first  time  the  woman  he  was  now 
going  to  see.  She  was  then  the  daughter 
of  a  small  shopkeeper  in  Boston,  and  her 
face  had  taken  his  fancy  when  he  first  en- 
tered her  father's  shop.  Soon  he  came  to 
know  her  well.  When  he  strove  to  please, 
no  one  had  ever  been  proof  against  his 
persuasive  manner,  either  when  he  was  Har- 
vard student  or  as  right  reverend  bishop; 
and  for  weeks  and  months  he  devoted  a 
great  deal  of  time  to  pleasing  Helen  South- 
wick. 

The  angular  rector  of  Port  Huron,  whose 
past  was  assuredly  ascetic  enough  to  satisfy 
any  Puritan  divine,  would  have  recoiled  from 
the  Bishop  of  Oklaho  as  from  Mephistophe- 
les  himself  had  he  known  more  of  his  guest's 
early  years.  The  young  undergraduate  had 
most  assuredly  been  in  love  —  after  a  care- 
less fashion,  and  Helen  had  been  in  love 
also  —  in  a  fashion  that  was  not  care- 
less. 


248  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

Time  had  passed,  and  he  had  taken  his 
degree  in  June.  Early  in  the  following 
autumn  they  were  to  be  married,  he  had 
told  her.  Very  early  in  July  he  had  sailed 
for  Europe  with  his  mother,  to  be  gone  six 
weeks.  On  his  return  there  was  to  be  a 
quiet  wedding  at  the  Southwicks',  and  then 
he  would  take  her  to  his  own  home  in  Con- 
necticut. It  was  not  a  very  wise  plan  that 
he  had  made,  and  to  most  persons  it  would 
have  seemed  very  vague  as  to  important 
details ;  but  it  did  not  seem  so  to  Helen  or 
her  father.  As  for  the  contriver  of  it,  he 
fully  meant  to  carry  it  out,  and  trust  to  time 
to  reconcile  his  people  to  his  marriage. 
Helen's  face  would  bring  about  this  result, 
he  argued  with  himself. 

There  came  one  or  two  letters  from  him 
to  the  little  shop  in  Boston,  but  at  the  end 
of  the  six  weeks  he  had  not  returned,  nor 
did  the  autumn  bring  him,  either.  It  was 
after  the  lapse  of  more  than  a  year  that  he 
came  back,  and  then  he  heard  in  a  vague, 
indirect  fashion  that  Helen  was  dead,  and 


SERIOUS  DILEMMA  OF  BISHOP  OF  OKLAHO    249 

that  her  father  had  gone  from  Boston,  no 
one  knew  whither.  Absence  and  new  and 
multiplied  experiences  had  left  those  few 
months  of  the  year  before  but  dimly  out- 
lined in  his  memory;  and  since  Helen  was 
dead  it  was  comparatively  easy  to  forget, 
almost,  that  she  had  ever  lived. 

A  year  or  two  afterward,  in  obedience  to 
more  serious  impulses  than  he  had  ever  felt 
before,  he  had  entered  the  General  Theo- 
logical Seminary  in  New  York,  and  Helen 
Southwick  thereafter  became  only  the  rarest 
tenant  of  his  thoughts,  the  occasional  theme 
of  a  regretful  musing  over  the  past.  But 
when  from  the  pulpit  of  Christ  Church  he 
recognised  the  face  of  the  woman  he  had 
supposed  long  dead,  he  knew  that  he  saw  her 
and  no  other.  That  long  pause  at  which 
the  rector  had  sneered  as  theatrical  was  filled 
for  the  bishop  with  the  events  of  sixteen 
years  before. 

And  now  he  was  going  to  see  the  woman 
whom  he  had  once  loved  —  in  his  way ;  the 
woman  he  had  deserted.  To  the  boy  beside 


250  THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

him  he  seemed  the  impersonation  of  seren- 
ity, but  he  was  very  far  from  being  at  peace 
just  then. 

After  they  had  gone  on  board  the  ferry- 
boat, the  bishop,  who,  in  spite  of  his  pre- 
occupation, had  been  interested  in  what  the 
boy  was  saying  of  the  various  objects  in 
sight,  was  led  to  look  more  closely  at  his 
companion.  As  he  did  so  something  caused 
him  to  flush  and  pale  as  he  had  done  in  the 
morning. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  ill,"  said  the  boy, 
anxiously. 

"  It  is  only  a  slight  attack  of  dizziness," 
the  other  replied,  after  a  moment.  "  It  is 
quite  gone  now." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  the  boy,  as  they 
left  the  rail  where  they  had  been  standing 
and  moved  to  a  seat  near.  "  I  should  be 
very  sorry  to  think  you  were  really  ill." 

"Why  so,  my  boy?  You  have  never 
seen  me  before,"  said  the  bishop,  lightly. 

"  I  know  that,  but  — "  and  the  speaker 
hesitated. 


SERIOUS  DILEMMA  OF  BISHOP  OF  OKLAHO    251 

"  But  what  ? "  asked  the  other,  encourag- 
ingly. 

"  I  know  you  will  think  me  foolish.  I  am 
sure  you  will,  but  it's  the  truth,  all  the  same. 
I  —  I  like  you.  I  did  when  I  first  saw  you 
in  church,  and  when  my  mother  said  she 
used  to  know  you,  and  sent  me  to  ask  you 
to  come  and  see  her,  I  was  so  glad,"  con- 
cluded the  boy,  hurrying  his  words  together 
impulsively. 

The  bishop  laid  his  hand  kindly  on  young 
Eccleston's  shoulder.  The  lad  flushed  with 
pleasure,  but  neither  spoke  for  some  mo- 
ments. Eccleston  saw  that  he  had  not 
displeased  the  bishop,  who  for  his  part  was 
recalling  his  boyhood,  when  his  heart  used 
to  go  out  toward  those  he  fancied  in  sudden 
impulses  of  affection.  But  a  certain  some- 
thing implied  by  this  similarity  of  tempera- 
ment was  not  altogether  satisfactory  to 
him.  Bishops  may  have  their  bad  quarter- 
hours  as  well  as  shepherds  of  less  exalted 
stature,  or  even  as  unsanctified  laymen 
have. 


252    THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

"  It  is  always  pleasant  to  be  liked,"  he 
said,  breaking  the  silence  at  length,  "  and  I 
trust  we  shall  know  each  other  better  in  the 
future.  But  you  must  talk  to  me  now  about 
yourself  and  your  mother,  whom  I  have  not 
seen  since  I  was  a  very  young  man.  Your 
father,  I  conclude,  is  not  living." 

"  No,  he  is  not,  or  at  least  I  do  not  think 
so.  I  never  saw  him,  and  my  mother  says 
she  has  not  heard  of  him  at  all  for  ever  so 
many  years.  After  my  grandfather  died  we 
came  here  from  Toronto,  and  I  have  never 
known  any  other  home.  Perhaps  you  knew 
my  father.  I  often  wonder  how  he  looked." 

"  I  think  you  must  resemble  him,"  replied 
the  bishop,  "for  you  don't  look  like  your 
mother." 

The  two  had  landed  from  the  ferry-boat 
some  moments  before  this,  and  very  soon 
came  to  Mrs.  Eccleston's.  The  boy,  after 
showing  the  bishop  into  the  house,  excused 
himself  in  order  to  summon  his  mother.  The 
bishop  sat  quietly  in  the  little  parlour  where 
the  boy  had  left  him,  his  elbow  resting  on 


SERIOUS  DILEMMA  OF  BISHOP  OF  OKLAHO    253 

the  table  beside  him,  and  his  hand  shading 
his  eyes.  Birds  were  calling  to  each  other 
among  the  honeysuckles  outside  the  open 
windows,  but  he  heard  neither  their  notes 
nor  the  footsteps  of  some  one  approaching. 
It  crossed  his  mind  at  that  moment  how  the 
rector  of  Port  Huron  might  wonder  to  see 
him  there. 

"  Ernest,"  said  a  voice  that  for  sixteen 
years  he  had  thought  silent  for  ever,  "  Ernest, 
it  is  I." 

He  rose  confusedly,  and  faced  the  woman 
he  had  loved  and  left  so  long  ago.  In  do- 
ing so  he  speedily  forgot  the  ascetic  rector 
across  the  river.  The  same  woman,  but  not 
the  same.  The  Helen  Southwick  of  his 
remembrance  was  slight  of  figure  and  shy 
in  manner,  and  her  beauty  had  seemed  of  a 
fleeting  or  at  least  an  ethereal  kind. 

"  The  woman  that  now  met,  unshrinking,  his  gaze, 
Seemed  to  bask  in  the  silent  but  sumptuous  haze 
Of  that  soft  second  summer,  more  ripe  than  the  first, 
Which  returns  when  the  bud  to  the  blossom  hath 
burst." 


254    THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

But  the  beauty  of  maturity  had  not  effaced 
or  obscured  certain  well-remembered  charac- 
teristics of  Helen's  young  womanhood,  else 
he  had  not  known  so  quickly  whose  eyes 
were  meeting  his  from  the  far  end  of  the 
church  that  very  morning. 

"  Helen !  "  exclaimed  the  visitor,  as  he  took 
her  extended  hand.  "  I  never  thought  to 
find  you  here.  I  had  thought — " 

"Yes,  I  know,"  she  interposed,  gently. 
"  You  thought  that  I  was  dead,  as  I  intended 
you  should  when  you  thought  of  me  at  all. 
Until  I  saw  you  at  church  I  had  no  knowl- 
edge of  you.  I  had  not  thought  of  you  as 
a  bishop,  Ernest." 

The  man  before  her  winced  at  these  last 
words,  as  she  saw. 

"  Pardon  me,  Ernest,"  she  added.  "  I  did 
not  mean  to  wound.  I  had  never  heard  of 
your  return  to  America,  and  had  come  to 
fancy  you  might  still  be  in  Europe.  Tell 
me,"  she  continued,  "  did  you  like  him  ?  " 

"  Like  him  ? "  repeated  the  other,  ques- 
tioningly. 


SERIOUS  DILEMMA  OF  BISHOP  OF  OKLAHO    255 

"  I  mean  my  boy,  your  son,  who  brought 
you  to  me,"  was  the  answer,  very  quietly 
given. 

Although  the  Bishop  of  Oklaho  had  been 
in  a  measure  prepared  for  this  ever  since 
that  close  scrutiny  of  the  lad's  features  on 
the  ferry-boat,  yet  now  that  the  fact  was 
announced  by  Helen,  it  came  upon  him  with 
almost  as  great  a  shock  as  if  he  had  not 
been  telling  himself  since  that  moment  that 
it  must  be  so.  He  groaned  inwardly. 

"  He  is  very  like  you  in  some  ways,"  went 
on  the  woman's  calm  tones,  "and  I  have 
trained  him  to  be  manly  and  noble.  As 
your  acknowledged  son,  even,  he  never 
would  shame  you  by  want  of  breeding,  I 
think." 

"  I  am  sure  of  that,  Helen,"  said  the 
bishop,  looking  at  her,  and  then  the  two  sat 
for  some  moments  in  a  silence  which  the 
woman  was  the  first  to  break. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  wondering,  Ernest,  why 
I  have  sent  for  you.  There  were  two  reasons 
for  it,  —  one  affecting  you,  the  other  myself. 


256  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

I  feared  after  this  morning's  recognition  that 
you  might  imagine  I  should  urge  claims 
against  you  in  the  future,  might  make  my- 
self your  enemy,  in  fact.  I  wanted  you  to 
know  that  nothing  was  farther  from  my 
intention,  that  I  had  no  desire  to  exercise  a 
disturbing  influence  in  your  life.  I  might 
have  written  all  this,  it  is  true,  but  because 
I  am  a  woman  I  longed  to  speak  with  you 
once  more.  I  wished  that  my  boy  should 
speak  with  you,  too,  although  he  will  never 
know  that  you  are  his  father;"  and  there 
was  just  a  shade  of  quivering  in  the  voice  of 
the  speaker  here. 

The  bishop,  who  was  feeling  very  little 
like  a  bishop  at  this  moment,  bent  his  head 
lower  and  lower  as  he  listened.  Had  Helen, 
then,  no  least  word  of  reproach  for  his  deser- 
tion of  her?  Her  implied  forgiveness  was 
more  bitter  than  any  accusation  she  could 
have  made,  and  cut  more  deeply  into  his 
soul. 

"  Then,  too,  there  was  another  reason," 
she  resumed,  her  tones  quite  firm  now.  "  I 


SERIOUS  DILEMMA  OF  BISHOP  OF  OKLAHO    257 

wanted  to  say  to  you,  in  case  you  had  ever 
felt  as  if  you  had  caused  my  ruin,  that  it 
was  a  mistaken  fear,  and  that  you  need  not 
be  troubled  by  any  remorse.  I  preferred  to 
say  this  rather  than  write  to  you,  lest  by  any 
chance  the  letter  should  fall  under  eyes  other 
than  yours.  Soon  after  you  saw  me  last  we 
moved  from  Boston,  and  later  my  father  had 
it  reported  that  I  was  dead.  Then  in 
Toronto  we  began  a  new  life.  I  took  my 
mother's  name  of  Eccleston,  and  passed  for 
a  young  widow  who  had  returned  to  her 
father's  home.  Then  my  boy  was  born,  and, 
on  my  father's  death  two  or  three  years  later, 
my  son  and  I  came  here,  where  we  have 
since  lived  very  happily,  and,  I  have  reason 
to  believe,  respected  by  our  neighbours." 

The  bishop  had  raised  his  head  by  this 
time. 

"  Helen,"  he  cried,  when  she  had  finished, 
"  I  certainly  proved  myself  all  unworthy  of 
you  in  those  far-off  days.  I  am  unworthy 
of  you  still,  but  such  as  I  am,"  —  and  here 
he  thought  of  his  episcopal  honours  half 


258  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

with  pride  and  half  with  shame,  —  "  such  as 
I  am,  will  you  not  take  me  and  let  the  rest 
of  my  life  be  spent  in  atoning,  so  far  as 
atonement  is  possible,  for  the  wrong  of  the 
past?" 

She  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  ask  ? "  she 
queried.  "  Do  you  know,  do  you  realise 
at  all  what  such  a  step  involves?" 

"  Not  the  faintest  shadow  need  touch  you, 
Helen,"  he  answered,  "  if  that  is  what  you 
fear.  Your  past  and  mine  need  never  be 
questioned.  We  might  write  to  each  other 
for  a  time,  and  then,  in  a  few  months,  have 
a  quiet  wedding,  after  which  I  would  take 
you  and  the  boy  to  my  home." 

"  But  I  am  not  thinking  of  myself,"  she 
exclaimed.  "  It  is  of  you ;  "  and  as  she  spoke 
the  lad  passed  before  the  open  window. 
"Ernest,"  she  resumed,  when  the  boy  had 
gone  from  hearing,  "don't  you  see  how 
nearly  he  resembles  you  ?  Would  not  that 
single  fact  raise  a  scandal  at  once,  if  you 
were  seen  to  visit  me  here  often?  It 


SERIOUS  DILEMMA  OF  BISHOP  OF  OKLAHO    259 

would  follow  you  to  Oklaho  as  well.  The 
truth  would  be  surmised  very  soon,  and 
then  it  might  be  said  that  I  had  hunted 
you  out,  and  forced  you  to  marry  me.  And 
what  would  your  clergy  say  of  you,  or  to 
you  ?  And  how  could  you  place  matters 
in  a  way  to  satisfy  them  ?  Ernest,  I  would 
die  sooner  than  bring  this  disgrace  upon 
you." 

Yes,  the  Bishop  of  Oklaho  saw  it  all  now. 
That  young  face,  so  like  his  own,  would  tell 
the  truth,  and  even  more  than  the  truth,  to 
all  the  world  if  he  were  now  to  marry  Helen. 
And  yet  his  old  love  for  her  had  returned 
as  he  sat  there.  No,  not  that.  It  was  not 
a  return  of  that  careless,  easy  affection  of 
his  youth  that  he  now  felt,  but  a  new  emo- 
tion, in  which  was  a  strange  mingling  of 
remorse  and  reverential  love.  Blended  with 
it,  too,  was  a  yearning  tenderness  for  his 
son.  Why  need  a  dread  of  the  world's  com- 
ments and  misinterpretations  hinder  him 
from  doing  the  right  thing  now?  Surely 
he  and  Helen  could  be  very  happy,  and  to 


260  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

the  boy  he  would  gladly  supply  the  place  of 
the  father  the  lad  had  never  known,  if  only 
—  if  only  what?  He  rose  and  paced  the 
floor,  and  Helen  read  his  every  thought, 
and  pitied  him. 

"You  see,  don't  you?"  she  said,  gently. 
"  You  must  see  all  that  your  proposed  settle- 
ment of  the  matter  would  bring  with  it. 
Scandal  would  be  quite  as  busy  with  your 
name  as  with  mine.  There  would  be  end- 
less discussions  about  you  among  your 
clergy  in  Oklaho.  The  other  bishops 
would  likewise  talk  you  over,  and  perhaps 
it  might  happen  that  you  would  lose  your 
office  in  the  church." 

"  I  could  not  be  deposed  from  my  posi- 
tion for  a  sin  committed  before  my  entrance 
into  the  ministry,  —  a  sin,  too,  which  I  had 
repented  of  and  atoned  for  as  far  as  pos- 
sible," repeated  the  bishop,  slowly,  and  as  if 
the  words  hurt  him  in  the  saying. 

"  Of  course  you  know  best  about  all 
that,"  she  responded;  "but  could  you  en- 
dure to  have  it  said  that  the  Bishop  of 


SERIOUS  DILEMMA  OF  BISHOP  OF  OKLAHO    26 1 

Oklaho  had  married  in  order  to  legitimise 
his  son  ? " 

At  this  sternly  truthful  putting  of  the 
matter,  the  diocesan  of  Oklaho  shuddered. 
How  hard  it  all  seemed ! 

"  No,  of  course  you  could  not,"  she  went 
on,  answering  her  own  question.  "  Then 
why  place  yourself  in  a  position  to  have  it 
said  of  you  ?  " 

"  Better  have  this  said  of  me  than  have  it 
known  that  I  had  a  son  that  I  would  not 
acknowledge,"  murmured  the  bishop,  but 
she  did  not  seem  to  heed,  for  she  con- 
tinued : 

"  My  boy  and  I  are  happy  here.  We 
have  enough  to  support  us  comfortably,  and 
now  that  you  and  I  have  met,  and  under- 
stand each  other,  we  can  go  our  own  ways 
as  before.  Had  I  not  perceived  that  you 
recognised  me  this  morning,  I  should  never 
have  sent  for  you,  nor  let  you  know  of  my 
existence.  But  since  we  have  met  once 
more,  you  will  know  that  my  feelings  toward 
you  are  only  the  most  friendly  ones." 


262  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

"  But  listen  to  me,  Helen,"  exclaimed  the 
other.  "  The  matter  must  not  end  thus.  I 
can  resign  my  bishopric.  Then  we  can 
marry  and  live  where  no  one  has  ever  heard 
of  me.  I  can  do  this  whenever  you  will 
consent  to  marry  me.  Ah,  Helen,  think 
what  a  happy  future  there  may  be  for  the 
three  of  us  in  some  other  country  than  this." 

But  he  did  not  say  "  I  will?  only  "  I  can? 
and  this  she  noticed.  Just  then  the  lad 
returned  to  the  house,  and  entered  the  room 
where  they  were. 

"  Do  you  know,  mother,"  he  began,  after 
the  conversation  had  become  general,  "  some- 
thing so  odd  happened  just  now.  Mason,  the 
carpenter  down  the  road,  saw  me  with  the 
bishop  on  the  ferry-boat,  and,  meeting  me  a 
few  moments  ago,  asked  who  he  was,  and 
said  I  looked  enough  like  him  to  be  his 
son.  It  was  a  queer  thing  to  say,  but  I 
fancy  it  was  all  because  my  hair  is  like 
yours,"  he  added,  turning  toward  his  moth- 
er's guest,  as  he  spoke. 

"The   man   was   not  so  far  wrong,"  re- 


SERIOUS  DILEMMA  OF  BISHOP  OF  OKLAHO    263 

marked  the  bishop,  after  a  pause,  "for  I 
think  you  do  look  like  me,  my  boy." 

Mrs.  Eccleston  said  nothing,  but  the  boy 
blushed  with  pleasure  again,  not  only  by 
reason  of  what  had  been  said,  but  because 
of  the  lingering  tenderness  he  detected  in 
the  voice  that  had  called  him  "  my  boy." 

In  a  few  moments  the  bishop  arose  to 
take  leave,  and  asked  the  lad  to  accompany 
him  to  the  ferry.  While  the  boy  was  absent 
from  the  room  in  search  of  his  hat,  the 
bishop  said,  in  a  low  tone : 

"  Helen,  I  cannot  consent  to  let  you  and 
the  boy  go  out  of  my  life." 

"  But  you  must,  Ernest,"  she  answered, 
sadly. 

"  No,"  he  pleaded,  "  I  must  not.  You  will 
see  me  again  before  I  leave  Port  Huron  for 
Chicago  on  my  way  to  Oklaho.  And  then 
you  must  tell  me  that  you  will  consent." 

"  Do  not  come,"  she  began,  and  then  the 
boy  joined  them. 

As  the  bishop  and  his  companion  went 
on  to  the  ferry,  the  former  exerted  himself 


264  THE  ARCHBISHOP  S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

to  the  utmost  in  talk  to  please  the  young 
fellow  by  his  side,  and  when  they  parted, 
the  latter  said,  timidly,  yet  not  without  de- 
cision : 

"  I  am  sure  that  you  are  the  best  man  I 
have  ever  known,  and  I  am  going  to  try  to 
be  like  you  in  everything." 

What  reply  could  the  right  reverend  shep- 
herd make  to  this  ?  And  how  could  the  lad 
know  that  his  words  pierced  like  a  sword 
the '  heart  of  the  man  before  him,  the  man 
whom  he  so  adored  ?  Involuntarily  his 
hearer  recalled  a  passage  read  long  ago, 
and  little  heeded  then;  but  now  its  full 
meaning  was  revealed  as  by  a  flash  of 
lightning : 

"  There  are  natures  in  which,  if  they  love 
us,  we  are  conscious  of  having  a  sort  of 
baptism  and  consecration.  They  bind  us 
over  to  rectitude  and  purity  by  their  pure 
belief  about  us,  and  our  sins  become  that 
worst  kind  of  sacrilege  which  tears  down 
the  invisible  altar  of  trust." 

As  the  boat  moved  away,  the  bishop  said 


SERIOUS  DILEMMA  OF  BISHOP  OF  OKLAHO    265 

to  the  boy,  "  We  shall  meet  again,"  but  he 
did  not  add  "  to-morrow." 

In  the  evening  the  diocesan  of  Oklaho 
preached  again  at  Port  Huron.  From  the 
pulpit  he  saw  his  son  gazing  at  him  from  a 
far-off  pew,  with  adoring  eyes,  but  Helen 
was  not  there.  As  usual,  the  bishop  spoke 
with  but  few  notes,  and  on  this  occasion 
chose  for  his  text  the  words :  "  Thou  hast 
set  our  misdeeds  before  thee,  and  our  se- 
cret sins  in  the  light  of  thy  countenance." 

Upon  this  theme  he  delivered  a  sermon 
stronger  even  than  that  of  the  morning. 
Persuasion,  entreaty,  warning,  command,  — 
all  were  blended  in  one  masterful  tide  of 
eloquence.  He  besought  his  hearers  to 
take  home  to  themselves  the  thought  that 
they  could  have  no  secrets  from  the  Lord. 

From  the  dark  background  of  the  pulpit 
the  fair  face  of  the  bishop,  with  the  gaslight 
falling  full  upon  it,  shone  out  like  that  of 
some  pitying  angel,  as  he  cried  out,  beseech- 
ingly: 

"  Oh,  beloved,  do  not  say  to  yourselves, 


266  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

'  The  past  is  past,  there  is  no  use  meddling 
with  that.  It  is  quite  enough  if  we  hence- 
forth live  soberly  and  honestly,  and  at  peace 
with  all  men.'  I  beg  of  you  not  to  drug 
your  consciences  with  any  such  shameful 
nepenthe  as  that.  While  one  sinful  act  of 
the  past  remains  unatoned  for  by  such  ad- 
mission of  it  on  your  part  as  will  prevent  in 
any  degree  its  bitter  fruitage,  and  right,  as 
far  as  may  be,  what  was  done  amiss  —  until 
all  this  is  done  by  you,  the  act  does  not 
belong  to  your  past.  It  remains  your  sin 
of  the  present  moment." 

Lower  and  lower  sank  the  speaker's  voice 
as  he  neared  the  close,  but  still  each  syllable 
might  be  heard  distinctly  throughout  the 
church,  till  he  ended  with  words  that  smote 
the  ear  like  the  awful  utterances  of  remorse- 
less fate : 

"  The  gods  are  just,  and  of  our  pleasant  vices 
Make  instruments  to  scourge  us." 

The  service  over,  bishop  and  rector  re- 
turned to  the  rectory,  the  former  on  the  plea 


SERIOUS  DILEMMA  OF  BISHOP  OF  OKLAHO    267 

of  fatigue  going  at  once  to  his  room,  glad  to 
be  alone.  From  his  window  he  could  see 
the  glitter  of  the  lights  on  the  Canadian 
shore,  and  the  coloured  lamps  of  the  ferry- 
boat sliding  back  and  forth  across  the  river 
like  some  gigantic  shuttle.  But  these  were 
not  needed  to  remind  him  of  Helen  and  her 
boy  over  on  the  opposite  shore  where  the 
lights  glittered  so  bravely.  His  boy  as  well 
as  hers !  Why  should  he  not  claim  this  son 
of  his  before  all  the  world,  and  act  a  father's 
part  toward  him  henceforth  ?  Had  he  not 
just  been  telling  his  hearers  to  face  the  con- 
sequences of  their  evil  doing  and  to  set  the 
crooked  straight  ? 

"  Lest  by  any  means,  after  that  I  have 
preached  to  others,  I  myself  should  become 
a  castaway,"  he  repeated  to  himself  as  he 
stood  by  the  window. 

In  the  room  below  the  rector  was  remark- 
ing rather  severely  to  his  wife  that  for  his 
part  he  felt  that  entirely  too  young  men 
were  now  being  raised  to  the  episcopate,  and 
that  sound  learning  and  gravity  of  deport- 


268  THE  ARCHBISHOP'S  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

ment  were  made  of  very  little  account  in  the 
Church  nowadays,  so  far  as  his  imperfect 
vision  extended.  To  this  his  wife  made  no 
reply,  being  a  woman  of  great  discretion ; 
but  she  knew  very  well  what  was  the  imme- 
diate cause  of  her  husband's  gloomy  views 
regarding  the  decline  of  the  episcopate. 

The  much  envied  bishop  above  stairs  was 
meanwhile  longing  for  the  night  to  be  over, 
that  he  might  return  to  Fort  Edward  and 
say  to  Helen  that  he  was  ready  to  give  up 
everything  for  her  sake  and  the  boy's,  and 
take  them  both  to  some  distant  place  where 
no  one  could  know  anything  of  their  past. 

But  was  he  ready  ?  To  go  now  to  Helen 
with  this  proposal,  and  gain  her  acceptance 
of  it,  meant  that  he  must  sacrifice  much  that 
was  very  sweet  to  him.  Name  as  well  as 
country  must  be  changed.  Perhaps  even  in 
some  remote  place  the  story  of  his  youth,  dis- 
torted and  exaggerated,  might  follow  them 
and  sully  the  fair  name  of  his  wife.  It 
might  some  day  come  to  the  knowledge 
of  his  son  and  cause  him  to  turn  from  the 


SERIOUS  DILEMMA  OF  BISHOP  OF  OKLAHO    269 

man  he  now  revered.  Of  what  avail,  then, 
the  sacrifice  of  present  honours  and  dig- 
nities ?  The  setting  right  in  the  case  would 
prove  a  mockery  only,  a  miserable  failure. 

But,  again,  how  could  he  remain  longer 
in  his  office  ?  He  who  had  once  brought 
shame  upon  a  woman  still  living,  he  who 
was  the  father  of  an  illegitimate  son? 
What  hypocrisy  could  equal  this?  And 
he  thought,  with  a  great  yearning,  of  the 
beautiful  woman  who  had  forgiven  him 
because  she  loved  him,  and  of  the  boy  who 
adored  him,  —  the  boy  who  was  his  son. 

The  night  passed  and  morning  brought 
with  it  the  necessity  for  prompt  decision, 
for  he  knew  that  if  he  did  not  return  to 
Helen  this  morning  with  the  settled  purpose 
of  making  her  his  wife  at  some  definite 
period  not  far  removed,  it  would  be  useless 
to  look  for  her  consent  at  a  later  time  after 
weeks  of  indecision. 

To  take  the  morning  train  for  Chicago 
meant  for  them  both  the  maintenance  of 
things  as  they  were.  To  remain  till  after- 


270  THE  ARCHBISHOPS  UNGUARDED  MOMENT 

noon  meant  the  fulfilment  of  his  promise 
made  to  Helen  sixteen  years  before,  the 
carrying  out  in  the  near  future  of  yester- 
day's proposal. 

Now  had  come  the  supreme  moment  of 
choice.  Hesitation  was  no  longer  possible. 
Whatever  course  he  adopted,  there  could  be 
no  looking  back.  Either  way  the  decision 
must  be  final. 

The  train  which  he  had  first  planned  to 
take  was  to  leave  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing. At  twenty  minutes  before  ten  the 
bishop  was  still  weighing  consequences, 
while  the  rector  was  inquiring  if  he  should 
go  with  him  to  the  station. 

The  train  for  Chicago  left  promptly  on 
the  stroke  of  ten,  twenty  minutes  after  the 
rector  had  asked  his  question.  Did  it  leave 
without  the  bishop  ? 

THE    END. 


SELECTIONS  FROM 

L.    C.    PAGE  AND   COMPANY'S 

LIST  OF  FICTION 


Selections  from 

L+  C  page  and  Company's 

List  of  fiction 

t* 

An  Enemy  to  the  King.     (Twentieth  Thousand.) 

From   the   Recently   Discovered   Memoirs   of  the 
Sieur  de  la  Tournoire.     By  ROBERT   NEILSON    STE- 
PHENS.    Illustrated  by  H.  De  M.  Young. 
i  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth          .         .         .  $1.25 

•     "  Brilliant  as  a  play  ;  it  is  equally  brilliant  as  a  romantic  novel."  —  Philadelphia 
Press. 

"  Those  who  love  chivalry,  fighting,  and  intrigue  will  find  it,  and  of  good  quality,  in 
this  book."  -New  York  Critic. 


The  Continental   Dragoon.      (Sixteenth 

A  Romance  of  Philipse  Manor  House,  in  1778. 
By  ROBERT  NEILSON  STEPHENS,  author  of  "  An  En- 
emy to  the  King."  Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 
i  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth  ....  $1.50 

"  It  has  the  sterling  qualities  of  strong  dramatic  writing,  and  ranks  among  the 
most  spirited  and  ably  written  historical  romances  of  the  season.  An  impulsive  appre- 
ciation of  a  soldier  who  is  a  soldier,  a  man  who  is  a  man,  a  hero  who  is  a  hero,  is 
one  of  the  most  captivating  of  Mr.  Stephens's  charms  of  manner  and  style."  —  Boston 
Herald. 

The  Road  to  Paris.      (Sixth  Thousand.) 

By  ROBERT   NEILSON    STEPHENS,   author  of  "An 
Enemy  to  the  King,"  "The  Continental  Dragoon," 
etc.     Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 
i  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth  $1.50 

"Vivid  and  picturesque  in  style,  well  conceived  and  full  of  action,  the  novel  is 
abwbing  from  cover  to  cover."  -  Philadelphia  Public  Ledger  . 

"  In  the  line  of  historical  romance,  few  books  of  the  season  will  equal  Robert 
Nwlwm  Stephens's  <  The  Road  to  Paris.'  "  —  Cincinnati  Times-Star. 


LIST    OF    FICTION. 


A  Gentleman  Player. 

His  Adventures  on  a  Secret  Mission  for  Queen 
Elizabeth.  By  ROBERT  NEILSON  STEPHENS,  author 
of  "An  Enemy  to  the  King,"  "The  Continental 
Dragoon,"  "The  Road  to  Paris,"  etc.  Illustrated  by 
Frank  T.  Merrill. 
i  vol.,  lib.  i2mo,  cloth,  450  pages  $1.50 

"  A  Gentleman  Player  "  is  a  romance  of  the  Elizabethan  period. 
It  relates  the  story  of  a  young  gentleman  who,  in  the  reign  of  Eliza- 
beth, falls  so  low  in  his  fortune  that  he  joins  Shakespeare's  company 
of  players,  and  becomes  a  friend  and  protege  of  the  great  poet. 
Throughout  the  course  of  his  adventures  the  hero  makes  use  of  his 
art  as  an  actor  and  his  skill  as  a  swordsman,  and  the  denouement  of 
the  plot  is  brought  about  by  means  of  a  performance  by  Shakespeare's 
company  of  a  play  in  an  inn  yard. 


Rose  a  Charlitte.     (Eigm  Thousand.) 

An  Acadien  Romance.     By  MARSHALL  SAUNDERS, 
author  of  "  Beautiful  Joe,"  etc.     Illustrated  by  H.  De 
M.  Young. 
i  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth  $1.50 

"  A  very  fine  novel  we  unhesitatingly  pronounce  it  ...  one  of  the  books  that 
stamp  themselves  at  once  upon  the  imagination  and  remain  imbedded  in  the  memory 
long  after  the  covers  are  closed."  —  Literary  World,  Boston. 


Deficient  Saints. 

A  Tale  of  Maine.    By  MARSHALL  SAUNDERS,  author 
of  "Rose  a  Charlitte,"  "Beautiful  Joe,"  etc.     Illus- 
trated by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 
i   vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth,  400  pages  $1.50 

In  this  story  Marshall  Saunders  follows  closely  the  fortunes  of  a 
French  family  whose  history  is  bound  up  with  that  of  the  old  Pine- 
tree  State.  These  French  people  become  less  and  less  French  until, 
at  last,  they  are  Americans,  intensely  loyal  to  their  State  and  their 
country.  Although  "  Deficient  Saints "  is  by  no  means  a  historical 
novel,  frequent  references  are  made  to  the  early  romantic  history  of 
Maine. 


L.   C.   PAGE   AND   COMPANY^ 


Her  Sailor.     ( 

A  Novel  By  MARSHALL  SATJNDERS,  author  of 
«  Rose  a  Charlitte,"  "  Beautiful  Joe,"  etc.  Illustrated. 
i  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth,  250  pages  $1.25 

A  story  of  modern  life  of  great  charm  and  pathos,  dealing  with 
the  love  affairs  of  a  Canadian  girl  and  a  naval  officer. 


Midst  the  Wild   Carpathians, 

By  MAURUS  JOKAI,  author  of  "Black  Diamonds," 
"The  Lion  of  Janina,"  etc.     Authorized  translation 
by  R.  Nisbet  Bain.     Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy. 
i  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth  51.25 

"The  story  is  absorbingly  interesting  ad  displays  all  the  virility  of  Jokai's 
powers,  bis  genius  of  description,  Ins  keenness  of  chaiaueriiatioa.  his  subtlety  of 
tamer  and  Sis  ...........  ••!!  art  i»  the  P.UR.CUJO.  of  the  novtl  fn».  one  apparent 

climax  to  another."  —  Cku*f»  Evemmg  fast. 

Pretty  Michal. 

A  Romance  of  Hungary.  By  MAURUS  JOKAI,  author 
of  "Black  Diamonds,"  "The  Green  Book,"  "Midst 
the  Wild  Carpathians,"  etc.  Authorized  translation 
by  R.  Nisbet  Bain.  Illustrated  with  a  photogravure 
frontispiece  of  the  great  Magyar  writer. 
i  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  325  pages  $1.50 

It  is  at  owe  a  spirited  tale  of  '  border  chivalry/  a  cfaanniiig  Urns  story  full  of 

-  *  —  *•*  -^ 


In  Kings'   Houses. 

A  Romance  of  the  Reign  of  Queen  Anne.     By 
JULIA  C.  R.  DORR,  author  of  "  A  Cathedral  Pilgrim- 
age," etc.     Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  MerrflL 
I  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth          .         .         .         .         $i.=n 

•  We  dow  the  book  with  a  wish  that  the  other  nay  write  man  romance  of  tf  -. 
history  of  England  which  she  knows  so  wen."— AM*OTK»,  Item  Y»rh. 
is  a  relief  to  COM  VDOB.    Related  w 


LIST    OF    FICTION. 


Manders. 

A  Tale  of  Paris.  By  ELWYN  BARRON.  Illustrated, 
i  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth,  350  pages  .  .  $1.50 

"  Bright  descriptions  of  student  life  in  Paris,  sympathetic  views  of  human  frailty, 
and  a  dash  of  dramatic  force,  combine  to  form  an  attractive  story.  The  book  contains 
some  very  strong  scenes,  plenty  of  life  and  color,  and  a  pleasant  tinge  of  humor. 
...  It  has  grip,  picturesqueness,  and  vivacity."—  The  Speaker  (London). 

"  A  study  of  deep  human  interest,  in  which  pathos  and  humor  both  play  their  parts. 
The  descriptions  of  life  in  the  Quartier  Latin  are  distinguished  for  their  freshness  and 
liveliness."  —  St.  James  Gazette  (.London). 

"  A  romance  sweet  as  violets."  —  Town  Topics  (New  York). 


fly  Lady's  Honor.    (/«  Press.) 

A    Romance.  By  WILSON  BARRETT,  author  of  "  The 
Sign  of  the  Cross,"  etc.,  and  ELWYN  BARRON,  author 
of  "  Manders."     Illustrated, 
i  vol.,  lib.    I2mo,  cloth,   350  pages      .         .         $1.50 

A  historical  romance  of  great  vigor  and  interest.  The  collabora- 
tion of  Mr.  Barrett  with  Mr.  Barren,  the  successful  author  of  "  Man- 
ders," is  a  sufficient  guarantee  of  the  production  of  a  volume  of 
fiction  which  will  take  very  high  rank. 

Omar  the  Tentmaker. 

A  Romance  of  Old  Persia.     By  NATHAN  HASKELL 
DOLE.     Illustrated  by  F.  T.  Merrill, 
i  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth  .         .          .         .         $1.50 

"  The  story  itself  is  beautiful  and  it  is  beautifully  written.  It  possesses  the  true 
spirit  of  romance,  and  is  almost  poetical  in  form.  The  author  has  undoubtedly  been 
inspired  by  his  admiration  for  the  Rubaiyat  of  Omar  Khayyam  to  write  this  story  of 
which  Omar  is  the  hero."  —  Troy  Times. 

"  Mr.  Dole  has  built  a  delightful  romance."  —  Chicago  Chronicle. 

"  It  is  a  strong  and  vividly  written  story,  full  of  the  life  and  spirit  of  romance."  — 
New  Orleans  Picayune. 

The  Golden  Dog. 

A  Romance  of  Quebec.    By  WILLIAM  KIRBY.   New 
authorized  edition.     Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy. 
i  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth          ....         $1.25 

"  A  powerful  romance  of  love,  intrigue,  and  adventure  in  the  time  of  Louis  XV.  and 
Mme.  de  Pompadour,  when  the  French  colonies  were  making  their  great  stru&gle  to 
retain  for  an  ungrateful  court  the  fairest  jewels  in  the  colonial  diadem  of  France."  — 
Ne*>  York  HertUd. 


L.   C.    PAGE    AND   COMPANY  S 


The  Making  of  a  Saint. 

By  W.  SOMERSET  MAUGHAM.      Illustrated  by  Gil- 
bert James. 
i  vol.,  lib.  i2mo,  cloth          ....         $1.50 

"  An  exceedingly  strong  story  of  original  motive  and  design.  .  .  .  The  scenes  are 
imbued  with  a  spirit  of  frankness  .  .  .  and  in  addition  there  is  a  strong  dramatic 
flavor."  —  Philadelphia  Press. 

"  A  sprightly  tale  abounding  in  adventures,  and  redolent  of  the  spirit  of  mediaeval 
Italy."-  Brooklyn  Times. 

Friendship  and  Folly. 

A    novel.      By    MARIA    LOUISE    POOL,    author    of 
"Dally,"  "A  Redbridge  Neighborhood,"  "In  a  Dike 
Shanty,"  etc.     Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy, 
i  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth         ....          $1.25 

"  The  author  handles  her  elements  with  skilful  fingers  —  fingers  that  feel  their  way 
most  truthfully  among  the  actual  emotions  and  occurrences  of  nineteenth  century 
romance.  Hers  is  a  frank,  sensitive  touch,  and  the  result  is  both  complete  and  full  of 
interest."  —  Boston  Ideas. 

"The  story  will  rank  with  the  best  previous  work  of  this  author."  —  Indianapolis 
News. 

The  Knight  of  King's  Guard. 

A  Romance  of  the  Days  of  the  Black  Prince.    By 
EWAN  MARTIN.    Illustrated  by  Gilbert  James, 
i  vol.,  lib.   I2mp,  cloth,  300  pages      .         .         $1.50 

An  exceedingly  well  written  romance,  dealing  with  the  romantic 
period  chronicled  so  admirably  by  Froissart.  The  scene  is  laid  at  a 
border  castle  between  England  and  Scotland,  the  city  of  London,  and 
on  the  French  battle-fields  of  Cressy  and  Poitiers.  Edward  the  Third, 
Queen  Philippa,  the  Black  Prince,  Bertrand  du  Guesclin,  are  all  his- 
torical characters,  accurate  reproductions  of  which  give  life  and  vitality 
to  the  romance.  The  character  of  the  hero  is  especially  well  drawn. 

The  Rejuvenation  of  fliss  Semaphore. 

A  farcical  novel.     By  HAL  GODFREY.     Illustrated 
by  Etheldred  B.  Barry. 
I  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth          ....         $1.25 


charmed  an  amused  world.    It  is  well  written,  drawn  to  the  life,  and  full  of  the  most 
enjoyable  humor."  —  Boston  Beacon. 


LIST    OF    FICTION. 


Cross  Trails. 

By  VICTOR  WAITE.  Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy. 
i  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth  ....  $1.50 

"  A  Spanish-American  novel  of  unusual  interest,  a  brilliant,  dashing,  and  stirring 
story,  teeming  with  humanity  and  life.  Mr.  Waite  is  to  be  congratulated  upon  the 
strength  with  which  he  has  drawn  his  characters."  —  San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  Every  page  is  enthralling."  —  A  cademy. 

"  Full  of  strength  and  reality."  —  A  thetueum. 

"  The  book  is  exceedingly  powerful."  —  Glasgow  Herald. 

The  Paths  of  the  Prudent. 

By  J.  S.  FLETCHER,  author  of  "When  Charles  I. 
was  King,"  "  Mistress  Spitfire,"  etc.     Illustrated  by 
J.  W.  Kennedy. 
i  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth,  300  pages         .         .         $1.50 

"  The  story  has  a  curious  fascination  for  the  reader,  and  the  theme  and  characters 
are  handled  with  rare  ability."  —  Scotsman. 

"  Dorinthia  is  charming.  The  story  is  told  with  great  humor."  —  Pall  Mall 
Gazette. 

"  An  excellently  well  told  story,  and  the  reader's  interest  is  perfectly  sustained  to 
the  very  end."  —  Punch. 

Bijli  the  Dancer. 

By  /AMES  BLYTHE  PATTON.     Illustrated  by  Horace 
Van  Rinth. 
i  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth          ....         $1.50 

"  A  novel  of  Modern  India.  .  .  .  The  fortunes  of  the  heroine,  an  Indian  Nautch 
girl,  are  told  with  a  vigor,  pathos,  and  a  wealth  of  poetic  sympathy  that  makes  the  book 
admirable  from  first  to  last."  —  Detroit  Free  Press. 

"  A  remarkable  book."  —  Bookman. 

"  Powerful  and  fascinating."  —  Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

"  A  vivid  picture  of  Indian  life."  —  Academy  (London). 


Drives  and  Puts.    ( 

A  Book  of  Golf    Stories.     By  WALTER  CAMP  and 
LILLIAN  BROOKS.     Illustrated. 
i  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth  decorative  .         $1.50 

Considering  the  great  and  growing  interest  in  golf,  —  perhaps  the 
king  of  sports,  —  this  volume,  written  by  Walter  Camp,  the  eminent 
authority  on  sports,  in  collaboration  with  Lillian  Brooks,  the  well- 
known  writer  of  short  stories,  is  sure  to  be  a  success. 


8  L.   C.    PAGE   AND   COMPANY'S 

"  To  Arms ! " 

Being  Some  Passages  from  the  Early  Life  of  Allan 
Oliphant,  Chirurgeon,  Written  by  Himself,  and  now 
Set  Forth  for  the  First  Time.  By  ANDREW  BALFOUR. 
Illustrated  by  F.  W.  Glover, 
i  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth          .         .         .         .         $1.50 

"  A  tale  of '  Bonnie  Tweedside,'  and  St.  Dynans  and  Auld  Reekie,  —  a  fair  picture 
of  the  country  under  misrule  and  usurpation  and  all  kinds  of  vicissitudes.  Allan  Oli- 
phant is  a  great  hero."  —  Chicago  Times-Herald. 

"  A  recital  of  thrilling  interest,  told  with  unflagging  vigor."  —  Globe. 

"  An  unusually  excellent  example  of  a  semi-historic  romance."  —  World. 


The  River  of  Pearls ;  OR,  THE  RED  SPIDER. 

(In  Press.)    A  Chinese  Romance.     By   RENE  DE 
PONT-JEST,  with  sixty  illustrations  from  original  draw- 
ings by  Felix  Re"gamey. 
i   vol.,  lib.   I2mo,  cloth,  300  pages    .         .         $1.50 

Close  acquaintance  with  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  Chinese 
has  enabled  the  author  to  write  a  story  which  is  instructive  as  well  as 
interesting.  The  book,  as  a  whole,  shows  the  writer  to  be  possessed 
of  a  strong  descriptive  faculty,  as  well  as  keen  insight  into  the  charac- 
ters of  the  people  of  whom  he  is  writing.  The  plot  is  cleverly  con- 
ceived and  well  worked  out,  and  the  story  abounds  with  incidents  of 
the  most  exciting  and  sensational  character.  Enjoyment  of  its  perusal 
is  increased  by  the  powerful  illustrations  of  Felix  Regamey. 

The  book  may  be  read  with  profit  by  any  one  who  wishes  to  real- 
ize the  actual  condition  of  native  life  in  China. 


Frivolities.    (/« Press.) 

Especially  Addressed  to  Those  who  are  Tired  of 
being  Serious.    By  RICHARD  MARSH,  author  of  "  Tom 
Ossington's  Ghost,"  etc. 
i  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth,  340  pages         .         .  '       $1.50 

A  dozen  stories  in  an  entirely  new  vein  for  Mr.  Marsh.  The  humor 
is  irresistible,  and  carries  the  reader  on  breathlessly  from  one  laugh  to 
another.  The  style,  though  appealing  to  a  totally  different  side  of 
complex  human  nature,  is  as  strong  and  effective  as  the  author's 
intense  and  dramatic  work  in  "  Tom  Ossington's  Ghost." 


LIST    OF   FICTION. 


Via  Lucis. 

By  KASSANDRA   VIVARIA.     With   portrait    of    the 
author. 
i  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth          ....         $1.50 

"  '  Via  Lucis  'is  —  we  say  it  unhesitatingly  —  a  striking  and  interesting  production." 
—  London  A  tkeneeum. 

"  Without  doubt  the  most  notable  novel  of  the  summer  is  this  strong  story  of  Ital- 
ian life,  so  full  of  local  color  one  can  almost  see  the  cool,  shaded  patios  and  the  flame 
of  the  pomegranate  blossom,  and  smell  the  perfume  of  the  grapes  growing  on  the  hill- 
sides. It  is  a  story  of  deep  and  passionate  heart  interests,  of  fierce  loves  and  fiercer 
hates,  of  undisciplined  natures  that  work  out  their  own  bitter  destiny  of  woe.  There 
has  hardly  been  a  finer  piece  of  portraiture  than  that  of  the  child  Arduina,  —  the  child 
of  a  sickly  and  unloved  mother  and  a  cruel  and  vindictive  father,  —  a  morbid,  queer, 
lonely  little  creature,  who  is  left  to  grow  up  without  love  or  training  of  any  kind."  —  New 
Orleans  Picayune. 


Lally  of  the  Brigade. 

A  Romance  of  the  Irish  Brigade  in  France  during 
the  Time  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth.    By  L.  McMANus, 
author  of  "The  Silk  of  the  Kine,"  "The  Red  Star," 
etc.     Illustrated. 
i  vol.,  lib.   I2mo,  cloth,  250  pages     .         .         $1.25 

The  scene  of  this  romance  is  partly  at  the  siege  of  Crimona  (held 
by  the  troops  of  Louis  XIV.)  by  the  Austrian  forces  under  Prince 
Eugene.  During  the  siege  the  famous  Irish  Brigade  renders  valiant 
service,  and  the  hero  —  a  dashing  young  Irishman  —  is  in  the  thick 
of  the  fighting.  He  is  also  able  to  give  efficient  service  in  unravelling 
a  political  intrigue,  in  which  the  love  affairs  of  the  hero  and  the 
heroine  are  interwoven. 


Sons  of  Adversity. 

A  Romance  of  Queen   Elizabeth's  Time.     By  L. 
COPE  CORNFORD,   author  of  "  Captain  Jacobus,"  etc. 
Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy. 
i  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth          ....          $1.25 

"  A  tale  of  adventure  on  land  and  sea  at  the  time  when  Protestant  England  arM 
Catholic  Spain  were  struggling  for  naval  supremacy.  Spanish  conspiracies  apiiti  t 
the  peace  of  good  Queen  Bess,  a  vivid  description  of  the  raise  of  the  Spanish  sicce  of 
Leyden  by  the  combined  Dutch  and  English  forces,  sea  fights,  the  recovery  <,l  tiolcn 
treasure,  are  all  skilfully  woven  elements  in  a  plot  of  unusual  strength." — PMsimrg 
Bulletin. 


IO  L.   C.    PAGE   AND  COMPANY  S 

The  Archbishop's  Unguarded  Moment. 

By  OSCAR  FAY  ADAMS.     Illustrated. 
i  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth  decorative          .         .         $1.25 

Mr.  Adams  is  well  known  as  a  writer  of  short  stories.  As  the  title 
indicates,  these  stories  deal  with  dignitaries  of  the  Episcopal  Church. 
The  mingled  pathos  and  humor,  which  Mr.  Adams  has  handled  so 
admirably  in  describing  his  characters,  make  a  book  of  more  tha* 
average  interest  for  the  reader  of  fiction. 


Captain  Fracasse. 

Translated  from  the  French  of  Gautier.    By  ELLEN 
MURRAY  BEAM.     Illustrated  by  Victor  A.  Searles. 
i  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth          ....         $1.25 

"  The  story  is  one  of  the  best  in  romantic  fiction,  for  upon  it  Gautitr  lavished  his 
rare  knowledge  of  the  twelfth  century."  —  San  Francisco  Ckronlflt. 

"  One  of  those  rare  stories  in  which  vitality  is  abundant."  —  New  York  Htrald. 


The  Count  of  Nideck. 

From  the  French  of  Erckmann-Chatrian,  translated 
and  adapted  by  RALPH  BROWNING  FISKE.    Illustrated 
by  Victor  A.  Searles. 
i  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth          .         .         .  $1.25 

" '  The  Count  of  Nideck,'  adapted  from  .the  French  of  Erckmann  -  Chatrian  by 
Ralph  Browning  Fiske,  is  a  most  interesting  tale,  simply  told,  and  moving  with  direct 
force  to  the  end  in  view."  —  Minneapolis  Times. 


"Rapid  in  movement,  it  abounds  in  dramatic  incident,  furnishes  graphic  descrip- 


:ions  of  the  locality  and  is  enlivened  with  a  very  pretty  love  story.' 


Muriella;   OR,   LE   SELVE. 

By  OUIDA.     Illustrated  by  M.  B.  Prendergast. 
i  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth          .         .         .         .         $1.25 

"  Ouida's  literary  style  is  almost  perfect  in  '  Muriella.' "  —  Chicago  Times-Herald. 

"'  Muriella'  is  an  admirable  example  of  the  author's  best  work."  —  Brooklyn 
Times. 

"  It  dwells  in  the  memory,  and  bears  the  dramatic  force,  tragic  interest,  and  skilful- 
ness  of  treatment  that  mark  the  work  of  Ouida  when  at  her  best."  —  Pitisburs  Bulletin. 


LIST    OF    FICTION. 


Bobbie  McDuff. 

By  CLINTON  Ross,  author  of  "The  Scarlet  Coat," 
"  Zuleika,"  etc.     Illustrated  by  B.  West  Clinedinst. 
i  vol.,  large  i6mo,  cloth       .         .         .         .         $1.00 

" '  Bobbie  McDuff,'  by  Clinton  Ross,  is  a  healthy  romance,  tersely  and  vigorously 
told."  —  Louisville  Courier-Journal. 

"  It  is  full  of  mystery  and  as  fascinating  as  a  fairy  tale."  —  San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  It  is  a  well-written  story,  full  of  surprises  and  abounding  in  vivid  interest."  —  The 
Congregationalist,  Boston. 

The  Shadow  of  a  Crime. 

A  Cumbrian  Romance.    By  HALL  CAINE,  author  of 
"The  Manxman,"  "The  Deemster,"  etc.,  with  twelve 
full-page  illustrations   in  half-tone,  from  drawings  by 
M.  B.  Prendergast. 
i  vol.,  cloth,  illustrated,  gilt  top   .         .         .         $1.25 


The  Works  of  Gabriel  d' Annunzio. 

The  Triumph  of  Death. 
The  Intruder. 

The  flaidens  of  the  Rocks. 
The  Child  of  Pleasure. 

Each,  i  vol.,  lib.  I2mo,  cloth  $i-5<> 

"The  writer  of  the  greatest  promise  to-day  in  Italy,  and  perhaps  one  of  the  most 
unique  figures  in  contemporary  literature,  is  Gabriel  d'Annunzio,  the  poet-novelist.  — 
The  Bookman. 

"  This  book  is  realistic.  Some  say  that  it  is  brutally  so.  But  the  realism  is  that  of 
Flaubert  and  not  of  Zola.  There  is  no  plain  speaking  for  the  sake  of  plain  speaking. 
Every  detail  is  justified  in  the  fact  that  it  illuminates  either  the  motives  or  the  actions 
of  the  man  and  woman  who  here  stand  revealed.  It  is  deadly  true.  The  author  holds 
the  mirror  up  to  nature,  and  the  reader,  as  he  sees  his  own  experiences  duplicated  in 
passage  after  passage,  has  something  of  the  same  sensation  as  all  of  us 
first  reading  of  GeoVge  Meredith's  'Egoist.'  Reading  these  pages  is  like  being  out  in 
the  counVon  a  darknight  in  a  storm  ^  Suddenly  a  flash  of  lightning  comes  and  every 
detail  of  your  surroundings  is  revealed."  —  Review  of  the  Triumph  of  Death,  in  the 
New  York  Evening  Sun. 


TkARCflBMP'S 
UNGUARDED  MOMENT 


OSGAR  fAY  ADAMS 


